


Closer to Fine

by sheron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Community: deancasbigbang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Destiel - Freeform, Empathy, Falling In Love, Friendship, Human Castiel, M/M, Magic, POV Castiel, Romance, Sam is awesome, Supernatural Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an empath, Castiel has always been different. Whether he liked it or not, since childhood he has felt the emotions of people around him. There is only one exception to the rule, a man whom his powers don't affect at all: Dean Winchester. With Dean seemingly just a regular guy, with a tough past, what makes him special? Can Castiel stop himself from falling for him regardless? And why has his brother Gabriel suddenly returned, wanting to rebuild their broken relationship...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The talented [Arandin](http://arandin.livejournal.com/) created the art for this story, which I love and which you can find [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4987510). I'm very grateful to her for picking my story and transforming my writing into art. Please drop her a note telling her how much you like it!
> 
> I want to thank my wonderful betas [NyteKit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NyteKit) and [suspiciousflashlight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousflashlight) for their help with this story. I feel lucky to have them both proof-read my work and offer valuable advice. I also would like to thank the moderators of the DCBB challenge for their hard work, as it is much appreciated. Finally, thanks goes to Kimmie who let me talk about everything I needed to talk about.

_"Well, darkness has a hunger that's insatiable,_  
_And lightness has a call that's hard to hear._  
_I wrap my fear around me like a blanket —_  
_I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it — I'm crawling on your shore."_

_— "Closer to Fine" by Indigo Girls_

 

Feelings were overrated.

Unfortunately, humans felt things all the time. Castiel's curse was that he always knew what they were feeling.

Confusion or lust, aching loneliness or unease, the rampant emotions swirled around the room and unwillingly he felt them all. The welcome-back dinner was at Castiel's home because his cousin Balthazar was too frightened to go back to his mother's house just yet. He was still living out of a hotel for a week now after coming back to their small town. Balthazar had been thrown out of a third university in a row but this time he'd lasted a full semester. His mother was beyond herself. He left the third school as happily as he left the first two, but not before driving the headmaster into such a rage he was throwing vases in his wake. Balthazar seemed proud of that accomplishment and of the ménage-a-cinq video that was making its rounds online.

Meg, who didn't care one whit about his education and liked a rebel, was laughing at Balthazar's generous exaggerations of his latest encounter with academia and amateur porn. Castiel knew she wasn't faking her amusement, could feel the humour in the peals of her laughter like sunlight tickling his skin. Balthazar's most recent girlfriend, April, was like a dark rain cloud, on the opposite side of her oblivious boyfriend.

Castiel didn't like egregious displays of emotion, those sensations piercing too far to his core, but this diversion he could at least tolerate. Ever since he had accepted that he had special powers, the empathy liked to sneak up on him. Sometimes the powers would rise like a wave in the ocean, growing stronger and stronger as the contact with the other person went on. Other times it was more immediate, like a pinprick that sliced through his mild contentment with its own design. Always his powers were like an eager child, leaping to his mildest command and seeking his attention.

The emotions Castiel felt as a result of his empathy had their own colors and tastes. Like auras that surrounded people around him, they became stronger with proximity. The feeling of Meg's attraction to him was like the aroma of coffee, better than the actual taste. Even though Castiel's preferences lay elsewhere, he couldn't bring himself to say no when Meg wanted to spend time together. She understood where they stood, but never ceased flirting. Many of their acquaintance thought they had a bad romance going on, when it was just Meg's lust for him and his basking in the feeling of being wanted. Still, other than that one kiss, he always stopped before things got physical. When you felt everything others around you were feeling, it was difficult to figure out which emotions were your own. Sometimes he thought he couldn't feel anything, that he was simply a reflection of other people's desires and needs. His problem with touch was getting worse, although he didn't like thinking about that.

With a mask of indifference as his expression, Castiel sat in the arm-chair opposite his friends, making like wallpaper. His friends had long since given up on trying to get him involved, not realizing that even sitting as he was a few feet away from where they were grouped on the sofa, he was still a part of their interaction. He felt every wave of humour, nostalgia, boredom and irritation that wafted from their direction. Of course, he never let on. He knew how fast they would vanish out of his life if they knew what he really was.

Balthazar was too preoccupied with his own stories to pay Castiel any mind. He lavished his attention on the effervescent Meg, even as April seethed in the corner of the sofa next to him. Castiel wanted to go over and comfort her; he was used to his cousin's careless ways but the hurt emanating from her was painful to him too. Maybe he could speak to her, convince her the heartache wasn't worth it. He rose from his seat, taking a deep breath and steeling himself against the expected onslaught.

"I'll get more wine from the kitchen," he said. The others barely acknowledged him. "April, could you give me a hand?" She turned to him, and immediately the wave of her emotions lashed against his sense of self. She was irritated at him for intruding, for taking her away from her college boyfriend while he flirted with another girl. She probably thought he was in cahoots with Balthazar, setting the scene for his cousin's conquest. Still, she nodded and with a furious glance at Balthazar, who didn't notice, followed Castiel next door. Once there, she leaned against the sink, crossing her arms with a pout.

He had the red wine out on the counter and white wine cooling in the fridge and could have easily gotten them on his own. He went after more crystal wine glasses on the upper shelf, to justify the trip. As he stretched his shirt rode up, and he felt her emotions shift. His hand paused, then, discomfited, he made himself get the glasses and turn around.

The expression on her face was different, evaluating. April looked like she was seeing him in a different light. 

She took a few slow steps closer. He watched her approach, feeling his eyes grow wider. She twirled a strand of her hair, "Did you get me alone to tell me your secrets?"

He tilted his head. "Balthazar does not mean to be unkind."

At the reminder of her boyfriend, her lips curled with displeasure, but she controlled herself. Again, with faked enthusiasm, she whispered, "Balthazar doesn't have to matter." This wasn't going how he had hoped. She chaffed his arm. He wasn't cold, and with her in such proximity, he could feel with perfect clarity her jealousy and bitterness. Despite her coy eyes and a blush on her cheeks, he could tell she didn't want him, she wanted a trophy. He pulled his arm away and handed her the crystal, making his point without words. Her expression soured.

When he re-entered the living room, April close behind him, Balthazar was helping Meg with a clasp on the back of her black lace shirt. "There, all good now, darling," he was saying, inches from her ear.

"That's it!" April set the crystal so hard against the glass coffee table; they all flinched expecting it to crack. The vase with flowers in it shook. "I'm done."

"Baby?" Balthazar said, "What's the matter?"

"Go to Hell!" She grabbed her little black purse of the couch, and with a flip of her hair turned to go.

In the doorway, she turned around. Perhaps she had expected Balthazar to chase after her, but he wasn't the chasing type. Looking them over, April's eyes fell on Meg. A terrible expression crossed her face, a livid anger that was gone in a moment as she contorted her lips in a scornful smile.

"You still waiting for him to put out?" April sneered at her, with a head motion towards Castiel "That frigid little prick is never gonna fuck you." She tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and walked away.

"Wow," Meg said, arching an eyebrow.

"Dodged a bullet." Balthazar said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The passing fancy of April would be forgotten quickly, if it hadn't been before they even came here.

Castiel sighed. "You two are incorrigible." He smarted from the emotional roller-coaster of April. This is why he didn't do parties, they required too much of his control. He liked to keep himself empty, detached from the people who flickered by with their feelings.

"Don't encourage us," Balthazar grinned. It was Meg's turn to grimace at the pun.

"I'm sorry, Clarence, gotta let you in on the truth," she said, strangely mournful even though Castiel could feel underneath the expression, to the laughing center of her, "I know you've been pining for me all these years, but I've moved on." Her treatment of him lately had been different. She was still attracted to him, but determined to move on. He had met Meg back in high school, and they now went to the same college, taking many of the same classes there although Meg was more musically inclined. What had been a crush when they were teenagers, had finally softened into something like true friendship at twenty-one.

"Cassie's devastated," said Balthazar, "I'm delighted."

Meg winked at him, pleased. Castiel sighed. With Balthazar, the show-off that he was, and Meg into showbiz, maybe they weren't a bad match. At least they would be entertaining, even if a few hearts got broken along the way with Castiel as an unwilling witness.

After a while, Balthazar came over and put a hand on his shoulder, "Sorry you had to deal with that back there," he said. The intuition was unusual for him.

"It didn't bother me." Castiel shrugged. He didn't let people in easily, and he had barely known April for a couple of days since Balthazar had been back. It had hurt only for a moment.

"I've got something that might," Balthazar said. He was serious. His tone was flippant, but inside he was far from calm. Castiel turned to him cautiously.

"What did you do?"

"Me? Nothing!" Balthazar said somewhat offended, but it softened into that strange and frightening worry yet again. "I just...Maybe you should sit down?"

Castiel moved to grab his arm. "Just tell me."

"I saw Gabriel, at the mall."

Castiel's face maintained its expression through sheer force of will, but his lips whitened as they pressed together.

"Seriously?" Meg's surprise was a distant echo of his own. Castiel wondered dimly if he was projecting, for surely his shock was strong enough to pierce even his carefully constructed shields.

"Yep. Strolling from a grocery store with two full bags, happy as a clam." Balthazar shrugged.

The grocery bags meant Gabriel wasn't simply visiting. He was staying somewhere nearby.

"Castiel, has he called you?"

There was a roaring noise in his ears. Gabriel was back.

"Castiel? Are you okay?" Balthazar was saying, his voice coming as though from a distance. Castiel looked up, the stark white face of his cousin coming into view again. He quickly controlled himself. 

Balthazar gasped, as though a vice had released his chest. Castiel had been projecting, and powerfully. That had only happened to him a few times in his life, the times of great emotional distress when he hadn't been able to control his empathic powers completely. Meg's upset face also swung into view. She was rubbing her chest over her heart, as though it hurt, staring at him with concern. Castiel took a shaky breath, clamping down on everything as fast as he could.

"I'm fine," he heard himself say. Pushing things down like that hurt like hell, but it was better than the alternative.

Castiel had been ten when Gabriel ran away. There were two versions of the story.

The one their teachers and neighbours repeated to their own children to warn them off, was of Gabriel who went from being a class clown, exuberant but well liked, to being an embarrassment to everyone, even his own family. Dark tales of being mixed up with the wrong crowd, being dependent on drugs and alcohol — shocking at a tender sixteen years of age — ended with a lecture on how important it was to have structured lives. That younger Novak kid, the neighbours said about Castiel with their eyes sliding guiltily away, he never even knew his mother. And how can you blame Gabriel for acting out when his father was never around, had abandoned them to the care of a full-time nanny for all of their formative years?

The excuses for Gabriel dried up with each trick, each black eye their own sons came how with, until he was simply the black sheep of the family in everyone's eyes. And after all, the neighbours whispered, look at Gabriel's brother, the youngest Novak, Castiel. The boy was quiet and respectful, he listened to his elders and if you were in trouble or upset, he always knew just the right thing to say. A little angel.

The second version of the story was the one only Castiel knew. He had felt it every time Gabriel looked at him, with fear and desperation mixed in. His brother had been disturbed by his powers from the moment Castiel started telling him about them, very young. Privately, Castiel always thought he was the real reason Gabriel had run away.

He remembered the day started with him waking up on a spring morning, so early that the sun hadn't hit the top of the tree-line, because the front door of the house had slammed. Castiel hadn't wanted to get up at all; he'd slept poorly for the past months, and it was Sunday, which meant their nanny would be taking them to church. Reluctantly he rolled out of bed, intending to go wash his face when his eyes fell on a piece of paper on the desk by his bedside. He eyed it curiously; it hadn't been there the night before. Opening it, he recognized Gabriel's writing.

The only thing Castiel still remembered of that morning was running frantically down the long wooden staircase of their house, shouting for his brother. Gabriel had been gone for a good hour by then. The door slam hadn't even been him; it was their nanny heading out to make a police report. She had found Gabriel's room empty of his valuables and clothes, and the old car that had been parked in the backyard was gone.

When he was asked if his brother had told him ahead of time that he was leaving, Castiel had said no. That much was the truth even if he had hid the fare-thee-well note. He had known Gabriel was unhappy. Castiel always knew when someone around him was unhappy. Like heavy fog, others' unhappiness seemed to soak through his clothes into his skin, reaching all the way to his heart until he could feel nothing else but their sadness. Then, of course, his own emotions ricocheted off him and infected the people around him. When you were basically an amplifier for whatever feelings the person around you experienced it was best for everyone involved if you didn't interact with people. Gabriel had had no choice by virtue of living under the same roof. It wasn't surprising that after years of handling Castiel's errant powers he'd bolted.

Back then, Castiel was too young to understand what being an empath meant. He hadn't known the extent of his power or the effect it had on people around him. Hadn't known how to keep himself under control.

But Castiel was older now.

 

* * *

 

With the thoughts of Gabriel's return, he hadn't been able to focus on his studies. Instead he spent his time on online searches for a man named "Gabriel Novak" that only turned up unrelated blogs and nothing remotely useful.

Ever since Balthazar had revealed that Gabriel was in town, Castiel had a paranoid feeling of being watched. It wasn't true, of course. Gabriel had no reason to watch him. Him being in town probably had nothing to do with Castiel at all: hadn't tried to contact him, had he? All the messy confusion was his own fault, for thinking there was still something left between him and his older brother, after eleven years of estrangement. 

He could still remember the hazel green of his brother's eyes, the easy smiles and the frequent tantrums. Castiel shook his head and tried to focus on the road. He had gotten a recommendation from Dr. Visyak but it hadn't been on how to deal with his unreasonable emotions. People always thought he went to therapy for the troubles with his father and older brother, but those were topics Castiel never discussed with anyone. With Dr. Eleanor Visyak, a psychology professor he'd met in one of his college courses before he used her practice, he worked through identifying his own feelings, naming them. He still hadn't told her about Gabriel's return. Dr. Visyak's advice had been on an entirely unrelated, practical matter. 

Parking in the driveway of a dusty relic of a house, Castiel pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket. Along with the address, it had a name written in an elegant hand: Bobby Singer. Eleanor had insisted he go straight to "Bobby's" to fix his truck and hinted she knew the owner personally. Apparently he was the best car mechanic in town. Looking around at the messy front yard and the old, decrepit cars piled off at the side of the road blocking the rest of the salvage yard from view, Castiel wondered how high of a compliment that was. The smell of burnt oil permeated the air. This place didn't look terribly safe and he wondered if he shouldn't just turn the car back on and rev out of there. 

As he was looking around, his eyes fell on the rearview mirror where a figure was reflected, idling by the gates. Castiel twisted around to see the guy, for it was clearly a man roughly his own age. He was wearing a brown leather jacket that enhanced the broadness of his shoulders, and soft blue jeans. The man stood with his hands deep into the pockets of his torn jeans, leaning back against the fence. His face was hidden in the shadow of the overhanging branches of the tree, but he had obviously seen Castiel drive up and it would be rude to leave now. 

Castiel got out of the car and made his way steadily towards the man, who straightened out of his slouch as Castiel approached. He had a dark, piercing stare. Castiel felt like electricity crackled between them in that moment when the stranger's eyes first met his. He actually thought his heart skipped a beat, and puzzled internally at his strong reaction. A strong jaw and a highly symmetrical face didn't warrant this kind of a pull towards another person. There was something brittle in the man's face, but that just made him want to find out what made him look unhappy.

"Mr. Singer?" Castiel said doubtfully, for the man looked way too young to own the place. Maybe it was his son?

"Hell no," the man answered in a deep baritone. Castiel felt his eyes sliding down to his lips and yanked them up. Now that Castiel was closer, his guess was confirmed — the man was close to his own age, his face putting him in his twenties at the most, or maybe younger. His expression looked strained. "Who are you?"

Castiel paused, unsure if he should introduce himself to a stranger standing in the shade. "I'm here to get my car fixed... Do you work here?"

The wind blew the branches of the tree away, shining some light on the man's face. His eyes were startlingly green as they ran over Castiel's clothing, sizing him up. "No."

Everything felt awkward and unsafe. The man had a strange edge to him, something flinty in the eyes as they stared Castiel down. He felt like the man's body language was telling him to go to Hell without another word. And yet, that pull, like a tether, made him want to step closer. Unconsciously, he straightened, unwilling to yield any ground. He let his eyes slide over the man's features, taking his measure right back, but it was for show. Internally he was still startled by the impression of those green eyes. All he noticed from his once-over was a strange occult pendant on the man's chest. Involuntarily, his eyes slid up to meet the stranger's.

He only realized he'd been staring when the man drawled, "Your truck definitely needs help. No engine should make a noise like that." He read Castiel's bewildered look and motioned towards the door to the house. "You should go."

Nodding, Castiel left the man alone. He walked up the stairs, glancing back to see the man watching, hands still deep in those pockets like he hadn't a care in the world, even though Castiel could see some sort of strange tension in the man's entire frame.

Turning away, Castiel rang the doorbell. There was a scuffle inside and then nothing. Castiel waited a few seconds and rang the bell again, twice this time. "Hold your fucking horses!" came the shout, and then more sounds of scuffle. Eventually the door was yanked open.

Castiel lowered his eyes from where he was expecting to see a man's face to where Mr. Singer sat in the wheelchair, glaring at him. "What?"

Castiel would not to let the gruff manner affect him. "Are you Mr. Singer?"

"Speak up, kid, I ain't got all day."

"Uh. I'm here about a car." 

The man's expression, if possible, grew sterner still. "And?"

"Eleanor... Dr. Visyak recommended you." Castiel drew on the words like a lifeline. For a second, the appeal to their common acquaintance worked. Something softened in the older man's face. Castiel wondered just what kind of an acquaintance Eleanor had been, but that thought was quickly discarded as the man suddenly looked around him at the guy loitering out front. Whatever softness had been in his expression before, vanished entirely. Castiel glanced back to see the guy he'd met earlier push away from the fence and make a hesitant approach. The young man's entire face was illuminated by sunlight, but the shadows in his eyes looked darker still as they matched the old man's stare.

"What the fuck do _you_ want?" the old man spat out. Castiel actually rocked back on his heels at the feeling that hit him, frustration and pain, and grief so deep for a moment he couldn't breathe. Castiel felt caught between the two. There was clearly some bad blood here, and he cringed with second-hand embarrassment at the glare Mr. Singer was sending the younger man. 

"I'm here about my car," the green-eyed man said, clearly nervous, "I— the Impala. It was my dad's car. Black, 1967."

Castiel swore he could actually see all blood drain from the old man's face. "Say again?"

But the man didn't repeat himself. They both clearly knew exactly which car he was talking about. Castiel was forgotten by the two men as they stared at each other. He took a moment to glance the younger man over, noting what looked like a uniform shirt under the jacket, tt said "Sonny's" in bright red over a name tag he couldn't quite see from his angle.

"Get the fuck off my property," Mr. Singer finally said just when the silence was getting unbearable. "I've got a gun and if you're still here by the time I get it, I ain't responsible." Castiel jumped back when the man wheeled around in his chair and rolled inside. He slammed the screen door shut in Castiel's face, and disappeared into the darkness of the house.

"I— okay," the younger man croaked. He wavered before turning to go. He hadn't looked the least bit prepared for the confrontation. 

Castiel looked after him, some sort of a strange sinking feeling in his chest as he watched him walk away. He was going over the last couple of minutes, trying to analyze what made him anxious about the guy. Only some time after the man had turned the corner of a fence and disappeared from view did Castiel figure it out.

He hadn't felt even a hint of the young man's emotions the entire time he had been here.

Castiel stood rooted to the spot in shock. That sort of thing didn't happen to him. A part of him was screaming inside to rush after the man and ask him how he'd done it. The rest of him was alternating between shaking in terror — how was he supposed to understand him if he couldn't feel what he was feeling? — and some kind of jubilant relief. Whatever thoughts Castiel had been feeling in the brief moments they spoke were completely and utterly his own. For a brief moment, Castiel had interacted with another person and hadn't been overwhelmed by what they felt or wanted.

Realistically, that might have been a fluke. It might never happen again. Perhaps Mr. Singer's overwhelming rage and grief had powered over whatever sensations the other man had been letting off. Telling himself to calm down and rebuild his center of inner peace that was so useful when in public, Castiel let out a slow breath. Told himself to forget the man and his eyes — whatever emotions he'd read there, he was probably mistaken — and focus on business.

He stood for a moment, debating knocking on Mr. Singer's door again, but couldn't make himself do it. The old man was obviously consumed by demons of his own, and it was a bad time to bother him. He turned away just as the front door slid open again, much quieter this time.

"He leave?" It was an unhappy question. The man tried to look around him. Contriteness poured off of him in waves, overshadowing even the bitter tint of grief, still present underneath. Before Castiel even had a chance to respond with the obvious, the man muttered, "Damn it." His expression was creased with guilt; so much so Castiel felt second-hand pain squeezing his heart.

"Couldn't look at him without seeing the guy that put me in this chair." The older man shook his head as though to clear it. "But it ain't his fault."

"No, it isn't." Castiel said, feeling a peculiar need to defend the man, although they'd just met. 

Singer looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. "Dean a friend of yours?"

"Uh, no." _Dean._

"Too bad," Singer said simply. "Well, show me the car. I'll at least take a look, though don't expect anything. As you see, I'm not half the man I used to be." He gestured towards his legs. "Been looking for hired help until I get out of this thing. Well, anyway." He wheeled his chair around Castiel and approached the truck. Trying to be helpful, Castiel went over to the driver's side and started the car.

"It just stops sometimes." Castiel thought about it and added, "...Dean," he tasted the way the name felt on his tongue, "...said the engine sounded wrong."

"Well, Dean is right." Mr. Singer muttered, not sounding any happier about it. "That ain't right." His face darkened again as he listened to the engine and thought for a minute. "But like I said, most I can do right now is fix a loose gas cap. Find someone else." The last was a snarl. The bitter tang of helplessness tainted his words. Castiel could feel the fear that injury had instilled in the man. He feared he might never work again, he feared his life was over, he thought— Castiel pulled himself away, clinging to the inner core of peace like a lifeline. It wasn't good when emotions were as strong and as serious as this. It could really mess with his head.

"It's not going to explode if I drive it, is it?" Castiel asked instead, staring at his hood gingerly, wishing he understood something more than how to fill it up with gas.

"Probably not," the man snorted, but his amusement came as a relief to Castiel. And without another word the man wheeled out of there, up to the door, and disappeared with another slam of the door frame. So much for that.

Sighing, Castiel resigned himself to more fruitless searching for a car mechanic. Why Eleanor recommended a man who was clearly of no help and a horrible attitude to go with that, he couldn't guess. Maybe Singer's Salvage Yard had been the place to go to once, but that was before the accident. Now it was a dump.

Castiel started his car and thought back to his encounter with Dean. He had to find out who he was if only so he could see once more if he could sense anything Dean was feeling or not. For science.

 

* * *

 

Between knowing about Mr. Singer's injury and his connection to Dean, it only took Castiel a small amount of online research to figure out the events of their bad history.

Every local newspaper had printed the story. How a guy three sheets to the wind had lost control and crossed the center lane, ramming his car into another, killing the other driver and injuring his passenger as well as losing his own life to the crash. Rufus Turner had died on the scene. The passenger that had survived the car crash was left in a wheelchair, leading Castiel immediately to realize that was the same Mr. Singer. The driver who caused the accident had been called John Winchester and he had two sons, now orphaned. The youngest was sixteen and the older one was called Dean.

Dean Winchester, who worked somewhere called "Sonny's". A quick search revealed a run down diner. Perhaps Dean had come straight from the shift there? Castiel grabbed his phone and the keys to his truck and headed out. If he could see Dean again he was sure he could figure out the mystery of whether the man truly was special. 

Hurrying, since it was mid-afternoon and he wasn't sure when the diner closed, Castiel found the place without difficulty. A bright red painted sign hung over a dark open door. Inside, it was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. A tall, heavy-set man was wiping down old wooden tables out back. There wasn't a single customer inside and his shoes squeaked on the cheap linoleum floor. The man looked up from beneath the dark eyebrows, not pausing in his cleaning task, "Closing in fifteen," Sonny, for Castiel guessed it was the owner, drawled, but there was no judgment in his voice. His emotions were muted; he took calm in the daily routine.

No longer certain Dean worked here, since Castiel doubted this place could support a second person on staff, he nonetheless asked, "Is Dean here today?"

Sonny lifted an eyebrow. He finished with the table and straightened the salt and pepper shakers before straightening and stepping closer. "Not today," he said, eyes piercing through Castiel. He didn't sense any hostility from the man, but perhaps a sense of protectiveness.

"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Do you know when his next shift will be?"

"Not for another week," Sonny answered candidly. "You a friend of his?"

"No," it slipped out before he could lie. "I need to talk to him." The cascading emotions from Sonny, and the way he turned to his drawer pulling out a notebook led Castiel to intuit he was about to be given a phone number. A phone conversation was counterproductive to his plans since he couldn't use his empathy over the line. "Uh, in person." 

Sonny watched him impassively before flipping the notebook shut. "You can try Benny's on Main Street. Dean's there a lot evenings. If he's not there, maybe the gas station at the corner, Gas-and-Sip."

Hope lighting up inside, Castiel nodded and thanked him. It had been a lot easier to talk to the man than he'd presumed upon walking inside. Sonny had a down-to-earth way of speaking that made him seem inherently trustworthy.

"You take care," the man said at his back in that same calm tone, and resumed his cleaning up for the shift's end.

After Sonny's, Castiel drove by the Gas-and-Sip station, but a quick look inside revealed that Dean wasn't in. The place was full of unhappy workers and hurried customers so Castiel quickly made his way outside. His truck was making that awful sound again, but it hadn't exploded as Mr. Singer promised. It seemed that his best bet to get in touch with Dean was to visit Benny's. His phone revealed it to be a local pub, about ten minutes away. 

In case Dean recognized him, Castiel didn't want to show up alone to the pub. He called Meg, asking her if she would do him a favour. Her amusement at being asked to go to a pub as a favour, as Castiel put it, was evident even through the line. "You got it," she murmured, her tone slightly sultry the incorrigible flirt. Castiel looked over at his failing car and quickly added that Meg would be driving. "Damn straight," she said, before they agreed she would pick him up at his place.

He headed home, wondering if he should change into something more bar-appropriate than a trench coat. As he was nearing the entrance to his house, he saw a figure sitting on the steps. Something in his chest jumped. There was a tang in the air, a feeling of something familiar and long forgotten, like nostalgia over a place from childhood. His heart knew what he was seeing before his brain could connect the dots.

By the time he parked the car, riding over the curb in his haste to come to a stop, he knew it was Gabriel sitting on the staircase waiting for him.

For a long moment, Castiel sat inside the car, staring at Gabriel through the windshield. Watched him as his older brother — _his older brother_ — slowly rose, helping himself up with one hand against the steps, staring back at him. His eyes were hazel green just as Castiel remembered, but everything else had changed. The past decade had transformed Gabriel from a boy into a man, and Castiel, who had been only ten when Gabriel disappeared, was left untethered by his memories.

Slowly, he unlocked the front door and slid out, hanging on to the door as his thoughts whirled in bewildered pain and joy. Seeing Gabriel again, even after knowing he was in town, sent him reeling.

"Hey, kiddo." His voice was rougher, deeper than Castiel remembered.

"Gabriel," he said, and he couldn't say more.

"That's right!" he lifted both arms in the air as though to show himself off. "Points for observational skills." His words were light and he was smiling, but his eyes were different and Castiel couldn't be fooled by his mask anyway.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked, his fingers gripping the car door until it hurt.

"Waiting for you—oh for god's sake, let go of that door. I feel like you're going to peel away from here if I say one wrong thing!" His annoyance covered up a deeper desperation. Castiel made his fingers unclench from the car door and shut it, making no move to step closer. Gabriel took a step forward and it was a physical effort not to step back. Even with several feet between them, Castiel was overwhelmed by how strongly Gabriel felt about this meeting — it made identifying his own emotions impossible. Was the relief and pain his own or his brother's? Who was the one with the pounding regret?

"You're looking good," Gabriel looked him up and down and added, "All grown up." He looked proud. Castiel wondered if he was just saying it to fill the space between them. Gabriel couldn't know what Castiel was feeling; the gift (the curse) was Castiel's alone.

"You're back," he said, because that was the only thing on his mind. The words thrummed in his chest, a ragged wound there opening up suddenly. Before Gabriel could make another asinine remark, Castiel blurted out, "Why did you leave?"

"Shit," Gabriel said, and he rubbed his fingers over his nose, looking tired. "No beating around the bush with you."

"Stop stalling," Castiel said, clenching his hands. Was he angry? Why? He felt the desperate pulse of his brother's emotions, the need to keep the conversation going about anything at all, so they wouldn't talk about _that_. "Why have you returned?"

Gabriel's face was a mask. "I'll tell you everything, let's just go inside."

"I'd rather stay here."

Gabriel sighed, but he was almost vibrating with some kind of energy, so when he accepted that Castiel wasn't moving, his demeanor changed.

"I found it!" Gabriel said, grinning from ear to ear. "I found the cure!"

Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

"I know how to turn you normal. You won't have to deal with those freaky powers anymore."

The overpowering emotions emanating from Gabriel were joy and guilt, fear and happiness all at once. Castiel swayed under the force of them. He clutched a hand to his chest, squeezing his fingers into a fist, trying to keep himself together. Gabriel instantly startled and it was as though he damped down on his emotions; they were abruptly muted. Not gone entirely, but the overwhelming force of them was no longer rolling over Castiel, their strength now a mere echo of what he'd felt before. He stared at his older brother in shocked silence.

"I picked up a trick or two while I was away." Gabriel winked. "This is gonna be awesome. No more getting inside my head, little bro. I'm evening the playing field."

Castiel shook his head to clear it. If anything, Gabriel misconstrued the problem. The emotions other people felt got inside _Castiel_ , not the other way around. Although with practice he'd gotten some headway into projecting his will onto others, it was still mostly a one-way street, their feelings steamrolling over his own, leaving him flat and unable to express himself. Castiel didn't care to correct him. 

He asked, instead, "The cure? What is it?"

"All in good time," Gabriel crowed, clearly feeling superior with his knowledge. "Come on inside, we'll talk."

The sudden squeal of tires on asphalt made them both look up. Meg's black SUV came to a rough stop besides the house and the dark haired woman cocked her head outside. "Oh hello there," she said, eyeing Gabriel up and down.

Gabriel waved and smiled, his same smile Castiel remembered from his childhood whenever a pretty girl came around. The memory was suffocating. Being in proximity to his brother, knowing Gabriel still feared him even though nothing showed on his face, was more than Castiel could take.

He ran over to Meg's passenger door, opening it and jumping inside, even as Gabriel shouted incredulously, "Where are you going?"

"Let's go," Castiel told Meg, slamming the door shut.

Meg glanced over at him, her curiosity pouring off her in waves, but she revved the engine and was out of the parking space before Gabriel could so much as lift a hand to stop them.

"A boyfriend of yours?" she said when Castiel sat silent and white-faced for too long.

"My brother," he sighed, shutting his eyes. He didn't want to see her reaction, but he couldn't shut himself off entirely; the shocked exclamation of her feelings still hit him like a brick across the face. He felt like he was made of was raw and brittle edges, and her curiosity was pouring over him, drowning him like an ocean in high tide. She didn't say anything for a bit, then put a hand on his thigh.

With physical contact the emotional transference was stronger, but it helped, as well. With the contact of her hand on his thigh he could feel the deeper emotions underneath the surface surprise, puzzlement, delight. On a deeper level there was some softer emotion there beneath all the thorns that Meg thought hid it from him. At least she cared.

"Want to talk about it?" she said.

Castiel shook his head.

"I'm here if you change your mind," she took her hand away, and might have shaken herself because the outpouring curiosity abated to be replaced with something edgier and darker. Meg was ready for a distraction. "Where to then?"

 

* * *

 

Benny's was a fine pub, according to Meg who was happy to take Castiel there. She knew the owner, who was married, but that didn't seem to deter Meg from flirting one small bit. Benny, who was also the bartender, was a stocky guy who looked to be in his late twenties and far too young to own a pub of his own. He had an attractive, drawling accent and shrewd eyes that Castiel didn't want to be examined by too closely. Benny flirted back with Meg with some vigor, although Castiel felt the chase was the point with them: fun to win, but not important. Benny was attracted to her, but he wasn't going to do anything about it. Meg was just playing.

The good thing about Meg was that she understood when to leave Castiel alone, which he needed right now, even though he was surrounded by other people sitting at the bar table. Going to the pub after meeting Gabriel was a bad idea, but he felt unequipped to think about it right then. At least it got him out of the house.

Castiel tried to recall if they had ever changed the locks since Gabriel left, but couldn't think of any occasion. No doubt Gabriel still had the old key. He wondered what Gabriel would think of his old room, still exactly as he'd left it.

He examined the glass before him, full of beer he wasn't drinking and trailed his finger over the condensation gathered around the rim. Castiel tried to find a center within himself, to grab that inner certainty and peace he needed to go through every day without losing his mind. It was shaky at best.

"Why did you get me to bring you here?" Meg asked him when Benny was out of hearing range.

Castiel thought for a moment. "I didn't want to be home." It was a good answer because it was true and didn't implicate him in any emotions. Meg seemed to sense the truth in his words because she backed off.

"Why did you agree?" He asked her.

"Are you kidding me?" There was a sharp stab of disappointment from her, even though her expression didn't change.

He shook his head, feeling oddly shy.

"How many times over the years have you asked for my help?" Meg said. His embarrassment intensified, because it was a lot. It didn't help to feel a sharp tang of amusement from her end as she watched him blush. She read his answer in his body language; he always seemed to need her to do this or that. Meg never seemed to mind.

"And how many of those times were for yourself?" Castiel looked up, sharply meeting her eyes. "Zero," she said, "That's how many." 

"Okay," he said softly. Then after a moment, "Thanks." She snorted and turned back to her drink.

Meg never minded all the different ways they didn't fit. He and Meg were from different worlds, she was as free as he was restrained, and in no universe personalities as different as theirs were they supposed to be friends or even friendly. And yet she'd shown interest in him when nobody else would, and that mattered.

It took another half-hour for Dean to show up for his shift. The traffic in the pub was ebbing and flowing, with a generally cheerful atmosphere. Some of the patrons congregated around the pool table on the side of the room. Meg was flirting with an older guy on her other side of the bar, a stocky man with a British accent, and after some time they both left separately for the washroom. When Dean walked in, heading directly for the back room with a wave at Benny, Castiel forgot to feign indifference and watched him unabashedly. After Dean disappeared into the staff room, Castiel looked down at his drink, disappointed. The pub held no interest for him until Dean walked out again, in a black uniform. 

Over the next while, Castiel watched Dean wait the tables, bringing the food from the kitchen. He had to be already twenty-one, since he handled some alcoholic orders as well. Every once in a while, Dean would pass close enough that Castiel felt the air move the back of his hair. Not once had he felt any emotion from the other man, he was as blank as a sheet of paper. The thought thrilled him.

He stayed in that in-between world, for a while just watching Dean bus the tables and flirt with the prettier girls. He had ordered a black coffee, to maintain some illusion of belonging and drank it slowly.

Meg suddenly reappeared at his side, looking slightly winded and debauched. The same man was standing behind her, dark-haired and somewhat older, in a well-tailored suit. It was only in the way her hair was slightly mussed, wet as though hastily straightened, that the signs showed. Castiel glared at her, but that only made her smile.

"What? A girl's got needs."

"The boy has needs as well," said the British man behind her. Castiel could feel his smug superiority from here. No doubt he thought he'd gotten off with Castiel's date, and the thought only made the man hotter for Meg.

Castiel dismissed his smug little smirk, turning his full attention to his friend.

"Did you really have sex in one of the washrooms?" Castiel hissed at her.

"Oh yeah." There was a pleased curl to her dark red lips. The man at her side tapped his watch as he looked at them. Meg gave him a sultry smile, before turning back to Castiel.

Her smile was wicked as she leaned to whisper into his ear, "He's a producer, said he might get me a gig in New York. I have a ride home." Castiel felt warm metal touch his fingers and realized she was pressing her car keys into his hands. "You take care, Clarence."

"Of course," he said, nodding. He would drive the car back, and they lived close enough he could walk home from Meg's place. "Stay safe."

Meg rolled her eyes and strolled off, hips swaying, after her new lover. She wasn't scared at all, which was reassuring. The man didn't seem menacing, only full of lust. He tipped his head slightly to Castiel with a clear look in his eyes that said he thought he won this round, and went after Meg, settling a hand on the small of her back.

Slowly, the pub emptied, with most of the patrons gone home on a weekday night. A group of coworkers were finishing up their last game at the pool table. The remaining crowd wasn't here for the food, so Dean had mostly stopped serving and had been helping the other servers clean up as people trickled out. Dean had long since unbuttoned the top of his collar for a more casual look. Castiel had gotten more than a couple of pointed looks from Benny, but he kept ordering coffee and light snacks, so it didn't matter. 

"Hey man," Dean said, leaning against the counter to speak to Benny. "Could I borrow your truck after my shift?" The realization that Dean was so close startled Castiel. There were only a few empty seats between them.

Benny was pouring a beer for a patron at the bar and his quick hands didn't pause on the various levers and handles as he said, "What for? And man, I would but Andrea's on call tomorrow. She needs the car."

"I could drop it off before then," Dean said. "I only need it for a couple of hours." He smiled, and Castiel wondered at the difference it made on his face. Back at Singer's Salvage Yard, Dean had seemed hunched in on himself, as though he had a stone around his neck weighting him down. With Benny, though, he was like a different person. Castiel wondered which was real, and for the first time longed for his power to work around Dean. But Dean remained a curious blank as far as Castiel's empathy was concerned. He had to strain to overhear the conversation because he wouldn't be getting any emotional queues from Dean. 

Benny, of course, was a different matter — the man was practically lighting up with emotions. He was concerned for Dean, protective of him even, which Castiel didn't completely understand. "What do you need it for?" he asked.

"Just gotta drive over to pick up the Impala," Dean said casually.

"You talked to the old man?" Benny's seemed surprised. "How did it go?"

"Surprisingly well, considering," Dean rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the counter briefly then back into Benny's face, which was disbelieving. "Said I could pick it up if I could tow it. So I figured, you know, if I could borrow your truck I could pick it up tonight."

Castiel turned his head to watch Dean, no longer satisfied with observing him out of the corner of his eye. It was such a bald faced lie, considering there'd been a moment when Castiel had honestly thought Singer might shoot him, and yet Dean's expression was absolutely smooth. Castiel stared for another moment, uncomprehending, then his eyes fell to Dean's right hand, rigidly gripping the counter, and he understood. Dean was an excellent liar.

Normally Castiel had a good head start on anyone who tried to lie in his vicinity. Their emotions would get all jumbled up, exhilaration and guilt mixing together as their bodies worked overtime to compensate for summoning the lie. Even then, most people didn't lie very well, especially if you got used to the signs. Castiel, with expert knowledge, sometimes didn't even need the extra leg-up empathy gave him; he could just tell. With Dean, though, if he hadn't already known it for a lie he would probably have believed the man.

Benny meanwhile had bought the story but was explaining apologetically that Andrea, who Castiel supposed must have been the wife Meg had mentioned, needed the car. He felt guilty and torn. He wanted to make Dean happy, but he couldn't go against the most important woman in his life. In fact, Castiel discovered with some dark amusement, Benny had a bit of torch for Dean, in the very low-key way one could love a friend a little bit more than strictly required. Considering how much Dean affected him in the brief time they'd met, Castiel didn't find it surprising.

Dean nodded, looking disappointed, and turned to go back to one of his tables. Castiel thought belatedly he should have turned away and pretended he hadn't been listening, but it was too late. Dean saw him as he turned and their eyes met. Dean's widened a little in surprise, his lower lip pursing as he swallowed convulsively. He understood that he'd been caught out. Castiel on the other hand was trying to work through his own chest tightening briefly as their gazes had met and for a moment it was like he forgot to breathe. The moment passed and Dean nodded at him cautiously before turning away and leaving without waiting for Castiel's reply.

Benny walked over to where Castiel sat. Looked at him for a while. "More coffee?" he said archly.

Castiel nodded without speaking. The energies of the pub had settled into a mellow buzz Castiel could push away. He had worried that this bee-hive of human activity would be stressful — he occasionally felt claustrophobic in crowds — but it felt better than spending the evening alone.

"You know," Benny said, startling him, "sitting here hunched over ain't gonna amount to a thing." He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. When Castiel stared at him uncomprehending: "You should ask him out."

Castiel pulled back. While he wondered if Benny had picked up on some sort of emotional emanation from him, the bartender just rolled his eyes and walked away. Maybe the explanation was simpler than that, maybe Benny was observant. At least now he knew Dean could be into it with another man. Not Castiel, obviously, but just in general, it was good to know.

"Benny thinks everyone should enjoy the domestic bliss he shares with Andrea," a voice said behind him, making him flinch and turn around. Despite himself, he looked up into Dean's bright eyes.

"Hello, I'm Dean," the man said, and Castiel just barely restrained himself from saying, _I know_.

"You startled me," he said instead.

Dean came over to lean against the other high chair. "That's a mouthful, do you have a nickname?"

After frowning for a second, Castiel sighed, exasperated, "Castiel."

Dean's green eyes sparkled, "Well, Cas, I know one thing for sure."

"What's that?" Castiel prompted. _Cas?_

"Nobody likes coffee that much," he indicated the cup in front of Castiel that he'd been refilling for the past several hours. 

Confused by the sudden realization that Dean hadn't been entirely oblivious to his presence, Castiel stared at the man.

"Either you're waiting for someone who stood you up, which is ridiculous, or you don't want to go home." 

"The latter." Castiel answered honestly.

"Relationship trouble?"

"No. My brother."

Dean leaned further back into the chair. "Most consider that a relationship."

"Not when you haven't seen him in eleven years."

"Damn," Dean said sympathetically. "Older brother?"

Castiel nodded. He wanted to have something to do with his hands. Talking about Gabriel made him feel vulnerable, and he already felt too exposed around Dean when he couldn't read his emotional state. Dean was looking at him like he saw him, like he wasn't just making small talk, and that was confusing.

"Want something to take your mind of it?" Dean asked unexpectedly.

Castiel tilted his head. "What do you have in mind?"

Dean said, "My shift is over, and there are pool tables empty."

"I don't know how to play," Castiel protested.

"C'mon, how are you going to learn if you don't try?"

Castiel hesitated. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of this man, but on the other hand it was an opportunity to spend time with him. He nodded, his uncertainty vanishing as he watched a slow smile spread across Dean's lips. Dean looked pleased.

He turned his head around, looking for Benny. "We need drinks!"

Dean ordered them both scotch. He slapped his hands against his back pockets, then looked around. "Damn, my wallet's in my coat pocket, hold on..." 

"No, it's alright. Let me," Castiel said, and sent the new waitress off with a bill of his own. Dean asked her to leave the bottle, and she winked at him as she walked off.

"Thanks, man." Dean smiled and went to get a cue. Castiel was happy to repay Dean for teaching him pool.

Dean was good at the game, and he had explained the rules, and modeled how to use the cue. He hadn't touched Castiel, but every once in a while he would pass close to him as they switched places, and the idea of him so close was headier than alcohol. At the table, Dean shot a combo. Castiel tried to act disinterested, secretly wondering if Dean would come over and show him how to do that. He tried to shake off the thought of Dean putting his hands on Castiel's arms, and went over to take his own shot. It went in.

Dean looked surprised. "Hey, you're actually pretty good at this."

Castiel said nothing, looking down and fighting a charmed smile at the pleasant flush of feeling.

"No, really. You either have the most amazing beginner's luck or you've got awesome hand-to-eye coordination." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Just my luck."

They took a few more turns. He was starting to figure out how to connect with the balls further away and sunk another two in succession, although it was heavily weighted by luck.

"Man, I'm actually not sure I could beat you!"

Castiel turned to him in surprise. "I thought you played a lot."

"Yeah, but," Dean waved his drink around, "I'm not at my best. I haven't been able to sink a ball in four moves now!"

Castiel tilted his head. It was true; Dean was slowly losing this game. Maybe alcohol was affecting him more than Castiel had realized. He wondered if it was affecting him also, but whatever the truth, he didn't feel bad. In fact, he felt light and happy. He turned to Dean and smiled at him from across the table, seeming to catch him by surprise because Dean paused for a second with the glass already near his lips. Eventually Dean took a sip and said,

"After this we should play another game."

Castiel nodded, elated that Dean wanted to spend time together. He was really starting to like the man. Dean was friendly and so patient as he explained to Castiel how to aim and which shots were easier to take from which positions. He seemed to spend more time teaching Castiel then actually playing himself. He didn't try to talk about the other heavier stuff, just pool.

They played for a while more, finishing the game, laughing at how Dean seemed to be incapable of hitting any corners tonight. Dean looked abashed, but he didn't seem to mind too much and Castiel didn't want the night to end.

"Another game?" Castiel suggested tentatively when they were gathering the billiard balls from their pockets.

Dean grinned and nodded, pouring them both another round of drinks. Castiel wondered how many glasses Dean had gone through already. His glass never seemed to be empty. The gentle buzz in his own head from the second glass of scotch he'd started was making it easier to watch Dean as he set up the next game, and to meet his eyes without flinching when Dean glanced up from where he was bent over setting up the balls. "Hey, what do you say to a little wager?" he asked, grinning.

Castiel tilted his head, surprised. Dean shrugged saying, "It's okay if you don't want to. I probably shouldn't bet anything the way you're beating me, but man, I just want to raise the stakes a little. Crank up the pressure, you know?"

"I don't mind," Castiel hurried to assure him. "How much do you want to bet?" He was already getting his wallet out. He only had a couple of fifties in it, all his small change had been left at the bar with Benny. "I only have a fifty..."

"That's fine," Dean answered quickly. "I can scrounge up enough. Here, it's official." He slapped down five ten dollar bills on the side of the table, and Castiel added his own.

They started the game. Dean let Castiel break, saying he didn't feel too steady. He looked good though, leaning against a nearby table in a casual sprawl. Castiel had to tear his eyes away in order to focus on the challenge in front. He broke the game and even got one of the striped balls into a far corner.

"Man," Dean said, lamenting his luck by hanging his head. Castiel felt a little guilty. After all, Dean was being so nice to him. He didn't have to spend any time with someone as awkward as Castiel. And yet here he was for almost an hour, looking like he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. These reflections didn't do any favours to Castiel's game because he failed to sink the next ball.

"Tough luck," Dean said. He was smiling a little as he walked over and purposefully stood next to Castiel to line up the next shoot. The proximity of him was intoxicating. Castiel took the barest step backwards, watching the straight line of Dean's shoulders as he bent over the table. The muscles on his back bunched up and strained, his fingers wrapped around the handle of the cue stick almost lovingly, then his right hand pistoned as he made the shot. Lifting his head and straightening, Dean shot Castiel a wicked smirk. He'd sunk the ball cleanly.

Dean walked over to the other edge. Castiel watched him as he lined up another shot, took it, straightened and walked over to the white ball again. He wasn't looking Castiel's way between shots anymore. There was an edge to Dean's smile directed at the pool table that hadn't been there before. Castiel took his wondering eyes off the man for a moment, looking at the table. Dean was swiftly eliminating all of the solid colored balls. His inebriation seemed to have fled. He took each shot with precise movements. As Castiel watched, growing cold under the collar of his shirt, Dean never missed a shot.

"Tough luck, Cas," Dean said at the end, looking at him from across the table where he was poised over the money stash. His hand reached out casually and swiped the cash off the table, sticking it into the jeans pocket.

"You won," Castiel said slowly. He wasn't so drunk he didn't understand what had happened. In fact, he wasn't drunk at all. Whatever buzz he'd gotten from half a glass of scotch an hour ago had fled around the time he watched Dean sink the final ball and straighten, his cold eyes challenging Castiel to say anything at all.

"Yeah. Thanks for the drink," Dean tipped his glass to him, taking a sip. "I'll see you around."

And that was all.

Castiel stood by the billiard table with his cue stick clenched in his numb hands and watched his retreating back. He didn't want to say anything, not about the game.

He'd had warning after all. Dean was an excellent liar. He lied just as well with his body, so invitingly turned towards Castiel with a smile.

Benny came over to his side from the bar.

"Sorry man, he—"

But Castiel didn't wait for him to finish the sentence. He strode quickly after Dean. He was suddenly inexplicably angry. Not because he'd been caught like a fool by an expert, but because for a while Dean had been everything that Castiel had wanted, and he'd done it so effortlessly it still took his breath away. If he were being honest, he was angry with himself, not Dean. He knew he was nothing special, so his fantasies about Dean putting his hands on him had been really out of place.

Storming outside, he just caught sight of Dean's back a few paces away.

"Hey!" he shouted, making Dean startle and turn his head.

"Your giant crush is showing, man." 

"What?" Castiel stopped on the steps, frowning.

"The hard-on you have for me, following me around," Dean clarified. "What's next, you're gonna follow me home?"

"I don't—What? No, I—"

Dean chuckled and turned to go. Castiel was glad for the cover of darkness because he was sure he was blushing. Dean had no way of knowing that the accusation wasn't entirely false.

"I just want to talk to you," he said, wincing internally at how the words came out so earnestly.

"About what?" Dean turned around again, sounding bemused.

"I heard what you said, at the pub." When Dean only looked confused, Castiel sighed, frustrated with this back and forth. "About getting your car back?"

"Oh."

"You were lying."

"Yeah... I do that." Dean looked away.

"I could talk to Mr. Singer about getting you your car back," Castiel said. Dean's head whipped around to stare at him. He needed some way to stay in Dean's company, and that was the only thing that had jumped into his head. If he used his powers to nudge Bobby Singer a little, he was sure the man would be more receptive to Dean. After all, that contriteness he'd felt emanating from the man wasn't faked. Castiel was sure it would only take a nudge.

"Why the hell would you do that?" _For me_ stayed unsaid.

Castiel shrugged. "Maybe if I do that, you'll stop cheating at pool. It's a service to humanity."

Dean snorted. "A humanitarian, I see. Do you rescue little baby birds too?"

"Do you want your car back or not?"

"If I thought for moment you could actually do it, I'd take you up on that. But my guess is you have no idea what you're talking about. I saw you, today. I've seen newborn kittens that are less naïve."

"Just because I don't assume every person who talks to me is going to try to con me doesn't make me naïve." Castiel said, still smarting from his failure to guess the real reason Dean was willing to spend time with him. "And I can help you. You're just too stubborn to accept it."

Dean shrugged and gave him a smile, as though to say, _well, what're you gonna do?_ Castiel wished he didn't feel that smile pierce something in him every time he saw it. 

"What are you going to do?" Castiel asked, because he had a bad feeling that whatever scheme Dean had concocted was going to smack him in the face. In his casual observations so far, Dean didn't strike him as someone who thought through every one of his actions in detail.

"It's my car. I don't care what the old man says. I'm gonna to get it back tonight." Dean turned to go.

"How?" Castiel took a few quick steps to catch up to him and walk at his side, trying to look at him and read his expression. It was so much more difficult to navigate these emotional waters without the help of his powers. Castiel had never thought himself reliant on them, but now he understood that their gentle ebb and flow just under his fingertips had felt reassuring. With Dean, he was adrift. He couldn't begin to understand what was going on under Dean's skin. But God help him, he wanted to. He wanted to see what made Dean work.

Dean threw him an irritated glance, but he answered, "The man's gotta sleep. I'll tow it out of there. I just need a good car for the tow. Didn't think Benny would let me down."

"I have a car," Castiel said. Technically, he was here in Meg's car, but those were just details. 

Dean stopped and looked at him, suspicious. "What's in it for you?"

"I already told you, I just want to help."

Although he'd been staring him flat in the face before, now Dean's eyes wouldn't meet his for a moment. "You know he's got a gun..."

"He wasn't going to shoot you," Castiel said, feeling his voice gentle as he momentarily recalled how downcast Dean had looked at the Salvage Yard. Compared to the self-assurance on his face tonight it was a difficult memory. "After you left, he said he was sorry."

Something flashed on Dean's face, too quick to read before it disappeared. "He said that?"

Castiel nodded. "If I talk to him on your behalf—"

"Forget it," Dean said grimly. "Can't afford to leave the car there, he might sell it for scrap. It was my dad's. Other than Sammy, it's the only thing I have left."

"Sammy?"

"My brother. He's sixteen." There was something in Dean's eyes when he said that, a kind of light that hadn't been there before. Sammy was clearly special to him. Castiel wondered how it would have felt if he could use his empathy with Dean. He had the impression it would have felt good to touch that emotion.

Castiel wanted to ask about their mother, but from the way Dean had spoken it was clear she wasn't in the picture and this wasn't the time to bare their souls. It seemed that the thought of his brother had spurred Dean on, because he said, almost reluctantly, "Would you really let me use your car?"

Castiel nodded.

By the time they arrived to Singer's Salvage Yard, Castiel had fully intended to convince Dean that his plan was superior. He hadn't counted on how stubborn Dean could be.

When he had agreed to loan his car, Castiel had been thinking that in the worst case they would wake Singer up and then with a little help from Castiel he would come around. It was late, but catching someone off guard actually worked in his favour. 

Now however, he was starting to sense that Dean wasn't about to yield on the matter. They parked under one of the large trees outside the fence of the scrap yard. Even though the night wasn't completely dark with the half-moon out, the car was still almost entirely invisible in the shadow. After he parked, Dean said,

"You can just wait here. I'll climb the fence, get the front doors open. I'll hook everything up...have you ever towed a car before?" At Castiel's blank look, he added, "Never mind, I'll have to drive."

"Dean," Castiel grabbed his arm before he could jump out of the car to execute this flawless plan. "I don't think this is a good plan."

Dean looked surprised at the touch, but slid out from under his hand. "I know what I'm doing, thanks. You said you wanted to help."

"What if he wakes up?"

"So what? The man is in a wheelchair, or haven't you noticed?"

What Castiel had noticed was the speed with which Bobby Singer had handled his gun and the wheelchair, both.

"I'd rather we didn't get shot at."

Dean gave him a wide grin, like a Cheshire cat. "Trust me."

He locked the door and disappeared into the darkness. Castiel sat in the car, listening to the silence of the night. Even with the window down, Dean's movements were inaudible. He moved like a jungle hunter after his prey. After a minute, Castiel had had enough. He got out and followed Dean.

He was just going to watch out for Dean. He wasn't going to get involved.


	2. Chapter 2

The most surprising thing about his prison cell was how small it was.

"I'm sorry, okay," Dean was saying from his own single cell across the room in the town's precinct. "I didn't think the Sheriff would be there." He sounded annoyed.

Castiel rolled his eyes. 

"Who knew the old man got around?" Dean covered his face with his hand. "Just my luck. Fuck."

Castiel snapped, "That wasn't luck. That was your choices."

After having their town's Sheriff point a gun at him tonight, Castiel was a lot less forgiving of Dean's self-expressions.

Not that he couldn't understand it, now that he'd been there. At the yard, when he had been unable to resist following Dean, Castiel had touched a hand to Impala's black hood. His eyes had fallen on the inside of the back door, where someone had scratched in a few letters into the frame with a sharp knife. Dean had looked surprised to find him frowning heavily, but Castiel had been sorting through the impressions, so many fleeting moments of old feelings, of pain and joy. "This is a very special car," he had murmured, hearing the awe in his own voice. 

Dean had beamed at him.

Some objects, family relics and such, would occasionally become imbued with the owner's aura. Castiel felt the love this car's owners had felt towards it like a warm plaid blanket wrapping around him. It made him turn wondering eyes to his companion. Dean had been an opaque shell of a person to him this whole time, but in the single glimpse the Impala had given he'd gotten an impression of family, belonging. 

"What?" Dean asked, shifting uncomfortably under the attention. The smile had slid of his face and his eyes were serious again. He had studied Castiel right back. Then his eyes had widened and Castiel whirled around to see what had disturbed him. He found himself face to face with a gun pointed at the pair of them by a dark-haired woman slightly shorter than himself.

"Hands up above your head," she said. Her uniformed chest had a sheriff's star pinned to it, lit up by the bleak light of the new moon.

"Jody?" Singer's voice echoed from inside the house. "What's the ruckus?"

Next thing they knew they were being arrested for trespassing, driving under the influence (Dean hadn't passed the breathalyzer) and, oh yes, driving a vehicle without a license (The issue came up when Castiel tried to convince Sheriff Mills that Dean hadn't been driving, only to have the question of vehicle ownership come up). They might have avoided the arrest despite the charges, but Castiel had a feeling that Jody was a little overprotective of her old friend, and Dean's attitude on first meeting the Sheriff hadn't exactly helped their case.

Speaking of attitude, its embodiment was glaring at him from the cell across the room.

"You're one to talk — you stole _your_ car."

Castiel sighed. "I didn't steal it, I borrowed it. From a friend." Who would be so pissed to find out police had her car, but he would deal with Meg later. Explaining to the Sheriff who was arresting him for trespassing that he'd had the permission to use the car hadn't gone over too well.

"Riiight," Dean drawled, but he let the matter go. He was sitting up against the wall on his cot, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Castiel envied him his easy posture. He had a feeling this wasn't Dean's first rodeo. Castiel, on the other hand, had only interacted with the police via parking tickets before tonight. 

Thankfully, there was nobody else in here with them. They sat for a while in silence. 

"Don't you have someone to call?" Dean said eventually, looking at him.

Castiel was silent, leaning his head against the wall. He wasn't mad at Dean for getting them stuck here. It had been his own choice to go along; in fact, he'd jumped at the opportunity to have a little adventure with the man. All of Castiel's actions since the moment he walked out of that pub to follow Dean had been completely and utterly his own choice. No undue emotional influence there. The thought was exhilarating. He could never trust himself around other people, their thoughts and emotions could be confusing. Here, with Dean, Castiel could listen to his own heart and follow what it told him. No, he wasn't angry at the man. Even now, stuck in this depressing dank little cell, Castiel was brimming with hope. Here, with Dean, he could trust his own self for the first time in his life.

Dean understood his silence for the _no_ that it was and looked down at his lap, shoulders curving in, his face getting that pinched look that spoke of frustration. 

"What about you?" Castiel asked quietly.

Dean shrugged. 

"I'm fine."

"What about your brother?" Castiel said.

"What?" Cas could see Dean's metaphorical hackles rising from across the room. "What about Sam?"

"I thought—"

"Leave my brother out of it."

"I just thought you might call him, that's all." Castiel frowned. "If I had a younger brother, I'd want him to know where I was so he wouldn't worry."

"Well, bully for you," Dean said, but his instinctive protectiveness had drained away. He sounded tired when he said, "I'll try to call him in the morning."

"Won't he worry when you don't come home tonight?"

Dean was silent for a long time.

"Sammy's in a foster home," he said eventually, looking at Castiel as though he would measure his worth by his reaction to these words. Castiel tried to look somber and attentive; it was easy as he was curious. "After dad...had his accident, Sammy went into the system. He's only sixteen." Dean shrugged, "Anyway, he's living with this woman now. Once I get a steady job so I can rent a nice apartment I'll apply to adopt him."

"You would do that?" Castiel asked, feeling his heart give a low thud. His own brother had spent eleven years away without even a note. All the explanations Castiel had constructed in his own head about why Gabriel would stay away crumbled before the light in Dean's eyes when he talked about being there for his own brother. It was plain that Dean didn't just think it was his duty. He _wanted_ it. Nobody had ever wanted Castiel like that.

"Of course," Dean said freely, like it was no big deal. "Anyway, Ellen's not too bad, she's just got _ideas_ about how to bring the kid up." Dean rolled his eyes. "She's got her own kid, too. I guess we're lucky someone like her could take Sammy in while I get my shit together."

Castiel nodded. He was silent for a moment, turning over everything Dean had just said.

"You don't have an apartment? Where do you live now?"

Dean's face flushed a little. "Oh, I've got an apartment. It's just a total shit-hole. Anyway, what's with the third degree?"

"I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, yeah. How about you share with the class."

"Share what...?"

Dean rolled his eyes a little. "C'mon, Mr. Literal. What's going on with you? I get a feeling that spending a night in this joint isn't how you roll." 

Well, no. That was more Balthazar's style. 

He stayed silent.

"We don't have to talk about our families. You could tell me something else about yourself," Dean prompted. "Nothing better to do in here, except share stories. I told you mine."

When Castiel still stayed silent, Dean seemed to grow frustrated. "We already went to jail together, man. You can talk to me."

"Why do you need me to talk?"

"Because I can tell you're holding back."

"I'm not holding back."

"Geez, Cas, it's not like I'm asking for your darkest secrets. If you're still mad at me—"

"I'm not mad at you," Castiel's voice rose in annoyance.

Dean didn't say anything, apparently Castiel's reaction was evidence enough.

"Okay, let's have it," Dean said eventually.

"Have what?" Castiel said, purposefully obtuse. The bed he was sitting on was rock hard and smelled of someone else. The incredibly bright light hurt his eyes even if he closed them. He liked to talk back to Dean; it gave him a sense of control.

"Have at me. The money in the pub, earlier. Go ahead, let it out, man."

"Oh, you think I'm upset about the money?"

Dean stared at him for a moment. "Must be nice," he said, voice losing some of its lightness, "to have so much money you don't even notice losing a fifty."

"I'm not upset about the money, Dean. I'm not upset with you at all." He was the one who'd misread the situation at the bar, all because he didn't have any practice operating without his powers. Human beings were unpredictable. He had to be grateful to Dean for teaching him a thing or two about human nature.

"Why not?" Dean on the other hand was a little worked up, if one could judge from his tone and clipped movement of one hand, "I took your money and I got you arrested, buddy." Dean looked away, his hands resting on both of his knees where he sat propped up against the wall.

"You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do." Castiel sighed. "I only wish you'd talked to Mr. Singer again. I'm sure he would have let you have your car."

"Yeah, right," Dean snorted. "He nearly shot me last time I saw him." His voice dwindled into nothing and his eyes looked distant as though he was remembering. His face darkened.

Castiel didn't like the way Dean looked when he was visibly upset. Although he was starting to think that the mercurial good mood he often seemed to be wearing — complete with a grin dancing on his lips and flirty coy eyes — was just for show, he still didn't like to see that defeated expression slide across Dean's face. It didn't seem right.

"I promise you, Dean. He regretted it immediately."

"How would you know? You guys old buds or something?"

"I—" Castiel had long gotten used to coming up with excuses for the little "hunches" he had all the time, but it was difficult to lie to Dean. "When the Sheriff was arresting us, he didn't look happy."

When Dean didn't say anything, Castiel tried again, "Tomorrow, when they let us out, we can try talking to him again."

"I think he'll be a little bit upset we tried to break into his property," Dean said.

"I'm sure he'll forgive us. Trust me."

Dean sighed, but didn't press the point. Considering how stubborn he was, Castiel didn't think he had Dean convinced, but he was hoping the idea would percolate for a bit. They had precious little else to do in their separate cells except study each other and talk, and maybe try to sleep.

"I'll buy you breakfast," Dean said.

"What?" Castiel asked, surprised by the non sequitur.

Dean shrugged, but didn't elaborate. He sprawled out on the cot and put an arm over his eyes, evidently intending to sleep. Castiel wondered how much of his lack of concern was for show. After all, if he was truly intending to adopt his younger brother, a criminal record would hurt him. He turned the matter over in his head for a long time, watching Dean while he appeared to sleep.

The morning brought a surprise. 

Castiel was ordered out of his cell by a policeman — Dean was still sleeping or at least faking it — who promptly brought him out to the front of the station. Jody Mills was there. She had gone home for the night but was back for the new shift. The clock showed it was seven in the morning, which was hard to believe; the time in the cell had dragged enough to make Castiel feel it had to be mid-day already. Next to Jody Mills stood Gabriel, chatting with her. He turned when he heard Castiel approach.

"That guy said, let's go, and you thought: why not, let's steal a car today?" Gabriel snarked.

"We didn't steal anything," Castiel protested. "I need to get Meg's car."

"That lovely friend of yours who drove the SUV yesterday?" Gabriel asked, and he had to nod. Gabriel turned to Jody, "We'll produce the documents that the car is a friend's. That alright?"

Sheriff Mills nodded. Castiel was released.

"You didn't have to come," Castiel said as he put away his possessions into his coat pockets. He felt oddly guilty, for abandoning Gabriel yesterday on the doorsteps of their childhood home, a home that had been Castiel's alone for too many years. It was irrational, since Gabriel had abandoned him first. Yet, his brother stood at his side now. It was difficult to accept.

"Your first real encounter with the law; I wouldn't miss it." Gabriel said. "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

Castiel straightened with the sudden realization. Nobody was coming for Dean.

"It was my idea," Cas found himself saying to the Sheriff, the words suddenly punched out of his chest by a force that felt beyond himself. "I...I wanted to do it. Dean was against it the whole time, he—he came to stop me."

Jody gave him a tight smile, her eyes dark and too shrewd for his liking. Castiel could sense minty fresh disbelief radiating from her.

"Right." Gabriel rolled his eyes beside him. Castiel felt his exasperated annoyance mixed with condescension, and bit his lip. Gabriel wouldn't let him get away with it. "You randomly decided to steal Dean's car for no reason, and Dean tried to stop you. You're an awful liar, did you know that?"

"You should let him go." Castiel ignored him and turned to Jody, imploring her. "Dean is innocent." He didn't want to do it, but if he had to he knew he would use his powers on her for Dean. 

Suddenly, Jody laughed and shook her head. "As amusing as I find this performance, you needn't worry about your friend." As Castiel watched her in surprise, she smiled more warmly, "Bobby chose not to press any charges. In fact, he's out front right now raising hell and wanting you boys released." 

Relief coursed through Castiel's body. "When is Dean being released?"

"In a minute," Jody said, turning to her paperwork. "You are free to go."

"I'll wait." He felt Gabriel turn to him in surprise, but he just planted his feet and did as he said.

 

* * *

 

Dean was indeed brought out of the cell a few minutes later. Meeting his eyes was awkward, and Castiel thought Dean felt it too, because he quickly looked away.

While Dean grabbed all his things out of the plastic bin and stashed them into his pants pockets, Castiel said to him quietly, "I heard that Mr. Singer is at the front of the station." Dean gave him a startled, almost frightened look. "We should talk to him now. He came to help you."

"But—" Dean stumbled. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Have a little faith," Castiel told him. They walked outside, and there he was, in the wheelchair by the front desk, talking to the clerk. Bobby Singer wheeled around at their approach, his quick eyes taking in Dean and Castiel.

"Mr. Singer—" Castiel started, feeling buoyed by the lack of anger he felt from the man. Despite the gruff appearance, his mood was reconciliatory. He felt guilt towards Dean, which Castiel thought appropriate since Dean wasn't responsible for the mistakes of his father.

"Call me Bobby. Mr. Singer was my dad." Castiel felt a waft of painful bitterness at those last words, quickly shut off.

Castiel nodded. "Dean and I wanted to ask about the Impala—"

"It was my fault," Dean cut in. "Cas told me to talk to you, I should have listened."

Bobby waved him off. "I get it. I was young and stupid once too."

Dean flushed but controlled himself well enough not to say anything.

"You come to work for me, and you can earn the car back. I've got a lot needs doing around the yard."

"What?" Dean gaped at the old man. Castiel was caught off guard as well, and he'd had some prior warning in the mellow way Bobby's emotions were flowing. In fact, Bobby was quite amused at the way his offer managed to surprise Dean; it was like a gently trickling stream through his otherwise calm state of mind. "Work for you? For real?"

"You heard me. Your old man didn't have any insurance and physical therapy ain't cheap." Bobby shrugged, tilting his head towards his wheelchair. "I need a hand around the yard. If you work it off, the car is all yours. Otherwise I'll sell it for scrap and pay my bills."

"I won't let that happen," Dean said, jumping on the opportunity. "I'll fix it."

"What, you know something about cars?" Bobby's tone was suspicious, but Castiel could tell he was pleased to hear it, if somewhat disbelieving. When Dean nodded shortly, Bobby snorted. "Even better."

Castiel sensed a slight protectiveness in Bobby whenever he looked at Dean now. Whatever Bobby was doing, it made a difference to Dean. Castiel wondered how Bobby could come down from a fit of an understandable, if not justifiable, anger and be so generous with the son of a man who had caused him so much hardship. It seemed too good to believe, and even without his powers he could tell that Dean didn't trust his good fortune. He looked like he was expecting Bobby to say at any moment, "Just kidding, your car is already scrap."

"You can come down tomorrow morning, if you have the time," Bobby said instead.

"Thank you, sir." Dean still looked unsure. He glanced at Castiel, as though to check he had also heard the same. Castiel nodded at him, before letting Gabriel know he was ready to go.

Leaving the Sheriff's station, Castiel's eyes fell on a poster on the board by the door. "Reverend Adler" it proclaimed above the picture of the man himself, "Come hear him speak!" His lips tightened as he read the dates of the event, a special guest lecture on ethics at his college. He wondered if he was imagining the slightly smug upturn of Zachariah's lips, or if it was equally obvious to everyone and they just didn't care.

"What are you looking at?" Gabriel asked.

"Nothing." Castiel made himself turn away. He would have to attend. He had a special interest in hearing the guest speaker's opinion on morality. 

"Oh, I remember him. You really hated that old bastard, huh?" Gabriel chuckled. "Even made up that bullshit story...." He squinted, scratching his chin. "What was it...?" 

Wide-eyed, Castiel glared at him, willing him to shut up. He could see, from the side, Dean and Jody starting to turn curiously in their direction, drawn in by the loud speech of his dumb older brother.

With a spike of helpless frustration, Castiel swirled around and strode outside, Gabriel calling in his wake, "Hey, wait up!" Castiel practically threw himself into the passenger seat of the car.

The drive home was silent. Gabriel spoke only when they were nearing the house.

"I saw your face in there," Gabriel said tightly. "You were going to put the whammy on her. Don't try to lie, I know your lying face."

"I wasn't going to hurt her. I needed her to believe me."

"Who gets to decide what she believes? You?" Gabriel was angry, but Castiel didn't need any powers to see that; he was gripping the wheel of his car so tightly his knuckles went white. He couldn't answer Gabriel's question. He knew what he had been willing to do was wrong, but he couldn't leave Dean in jail either. Not when it would destroy him if he lost Sam, too. Didn't his goal justify the means? He wanted to believe that.

"You'll always want to do something. The temptation will always be too strong. That's why I'm going to fix it, Castiel. Once we find the amulet, it'll all be over."

"Amulet?" Castiel tried not to sound too eager. This was the first time Gabriel had let slip anything about his supposed cure.

"Very old; very powerful. It's charmed so that the wearer is shielded, protected by magic so powerful it's as though God himself watches over them. Not even your powers will get through something like that." Castiel listened, wondering how his brother could believe an object like that would exist. Gabriel wasn't one for fairy tales. "Once you put it on, you'll be normal, baby bro. You'll be safe from the curse you're under."

"Normal..." Castiel said, almost wonderingly. What was normal?


	3. Chapter 3

Gabriel drove him to their family house. At the door, he hesitated slightly, a delay so short Castiel wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't seen it a million times back when they were kids.

"You should come in," Castiel told him, shutting his eyes slightly against the relief that spread across his brother's frame.

"Did you know you have a forest in your living room?" Gabriel said lightly, once they were inside.

Castiel sighed. "It's not a forest. Those are house plants." 

"Those are a lot of house plants. Do you sell them or something?"

"No, I just like to look at them." Castiel glanced over at the living room where one of the orchids was in full bloom. "I have some in my room too. They feel nice."

"Don't tell me plants have feelings..."

"Not as such." It was a shame he was the only one who knew the things he felt. He'd never met another empath, and didn't have the language to discuss it with someone who wasn't sensitive. He thought for moment, then added with a little side-ways glance at Gabriel, "I've got bees, too." Castiel liked bees. Castiel could not interpret any emotions they exhibited on a human level and so they were an ambient noise he could ignore. 

Gabriel predictably boggled. Castiel hid a tiny smile. His brother was as different from him as the sun from a moon. 

But that thought, too, soured. Gabriel had left when Castiel was still getting to know his own powers. Now, they were basically strangers related by blood. What could their relationship have been if they had spent all those years together? If Gabriel had been there to protect him from the worst parts? Would they be as close as Dean was to his younger brother Sam? It didn't seem possible. They were too different.

He let a little wickedness into his smile. "You should see the backyard."

Gabriel lifted one of the sheer curtains on the windows, looking out. "Is that a scarecrow?"

"Yes," Castiel said.

"Is that...my old jacket? ...And my fedora?!"

"Yes."

Castiel could picture the scarecrow in his mind's eye, a relic of their childhood. Some time back he had dressed it in Gabriel's old clothes perhaps out of revenge — let the birds pick at it! It stood at the edge of a small garden, while the rest of the property stretched across a few acres of mowed grass to the closest neighbour's fence. The garden by the house held a special place in Castiel's life. He could always find a sense of peace when he was there, under the large oak tree that had grown in their backyard for generations. 

Upstairs, Gabriel's room was exactly as it had been before he left. Gabriel looked around, running a hand over this dusty surface and that, picking up an old photograph in its faded wooden frame. Castiel watched him from the doorway, fiddling with his phone. He wondered how Gabriel could feel only mild nostalgia at seeing his old room. Wondered how hard it would be to clean it up so Gabriel could stay under this roof, if he wanted. 

Meg had texted him that she would be out of touch; apparently her evening with the man from the bar had turned into a night of passion, which expanded into a day of passion. Whatever the reason, Castiel was happy he could get her car back without her ever knowing it was gone.

"There's a stack of letters in the drawer." Castiel's voice made his brother turn around, eyebrows raised in surprise. "People kept writing after you left. I read them all. You can too, if you want."

"I...Thanks." Gabriel rubbed his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. "I said I'd tell you everything—"

"It's okay," Castiel said.

"Well, actually—"

"I know why you left. I've always known." Castiel pushed away from the doorframe, "So tell me about the cure for my powers? How do you know it exists?"

Gabriel studied him for a moment, then relented.

"I did a lot of digging." He went to sit on his old bed-frame, coughing when a small cloud of dust rose up, but staying put. "Read basically everything I could get my hands on; even met someone who taught me how to dampen whatever I put out when you're near, as you noticed. And I eventually tripped over this interesting little group of people who helped me find the amulet."

Castiel tilted his head, listening.

"Okay," Gabriel said, "by tripped over, I mean I literally walked in on them dancing naked in the moonlight, but the info is legit."

"Dancing...?"

"They're a coven of witches, okay? It's not a big deal. It was like a party."

Castiel glared at him.

"Well, you have special powers! It stood to reason, there were other people out there who have special powers too! All I had to do was keep looking. After I got into the occult, after I got clean" — he gave Castiel a significant look — "I started to run into all kinds of weird shit you wouldn't believe. Wood spirits, man, those guys were a blast. By the time I got to a bunch of witches drawing down the moon, I didn't even feel surprised. I already knew about the protection spells, I just needed to find the source. The coven didn't trust me at first, I was an outsider, but we made it work eventually."

"What was it like?"

"Oh? The witches? Lovely people," Gabriel said blithely. "One girl performed a location spell for me. She had this map that she chanted over and voila, the map burned away leaving only the location of the amulet. Spitfire, that one. Legs up to here." He paused in dreamy reminiscence, "Imagine my surprise to realize that it was in our very town."

"The amulet is here? But Lawrence is nothing special."

"Special enough to have the one item spelled to protect its wearer by one of the most powerful witches this side of Atlantic."

"How do you intend to find it? The location spell wasn't any more specific?"

"I'm working on that." Gabriel shrugged. "Magic is weird. Imprecise. Unless you're born into it, it takes too long to learn to control it. I'm better off using my brains, and the Internet of course."

"How is the Internet going to help you find a single amulet that may or may not be in this town?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised." Gabriel chuckled. "My friend, man, she can find anything as long as it's on a computer. It's actually freaky."

"And did your friend come with you?" Castiel asked, wondering if Gabriel's girlfriend would also want to stay in the house.

"Oh, not that kind of a friend," Gabriel said, "Although a man could dream... Charlie's in Michigan. She has a Kingdom to protect."

Castiel briefly shut his eyes, not attempting to understand that reference. "Then how's your friend going to help us find the amulet?"

"Don't worry about it. If there's a trace of it in the system, if it's even once been photographed and the picture is posted online, Charlie will find it."

"How do you know it's not just...buried somewhere in a tomb. Away from humans."

"Because what kind of a witch would make something so powerful and then not give it to someone she wanted to protect? No, the amulet is in circulation. We just have to find it."

"There are a lot of pictures online," Castiel pointed out. "Would ...Charlie know it if she saw it?"

"I've got a drawing of it." He opened his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket. "Take a look." It was a strange kind of idol with horns. Castiel shrugged and gave the drawing back to his brother.

He pressed his lips together, steeling himself before asking, "In the meantime, are you staying here?"

"A hotel, down on Main Street." Gabriel shrugged. 

Castiel tried not to feel disappointed. "I could have the room cleaned," he said in a low voice.

Gabriel shifted from foot to foot, a little uncomfortable. "My control's good, but it's not that good."

"I wouldn't...use my powers on you." 

"You mean, you aren't using them on me right now?" He was almost amused.

Castiel looked away.

"I get it. You can't help sensing things. That's fine." Gabriel tapped his breast where the piece of paper was once again hidden in his breast pocket. "Once we find this and put it on your neck, kiddo, you won't have to worry about that stuff anymore."

"You mean, _you_ won't."

Gabriel shrugged. "Guilty."

 

* * *

 

He held out for two days, which was more than he thought he'd manage. He climbed out of the car at the Salvage Yard, a ready excuse on his lips: his car still needed work. The swooping feeling in his gut belied that, however. He hoped to see Dean again.

There was nobody out front, but he could just barely hear voices behind the house. When he rounded the corner, he could see Dean lying down on a tarp on the ground, looking under one of the cars, Bobby sitting in his chair nearby talking to him in a low voice. They looked involved in their work. Castiel didn't want to disturb them. If the emotions he was picking up from Bobby were any clue, Bobby and Dean had managed to find a common language.

Castiel retreated back to the front of the house, pulled one of his textbooks from the car and sat down on the steps, intending to study for his psychology exam. He found the subject personally relevant. As much as he enjoyed the class, he couldn't keep focused on the text in front of him. His thoughts kept turning towards Gabriel.

His older brother had changed. Castiel had watched and waited for the illusion to be peeled away until his real brother — the one who'd run away when Castiel was ten — would show up again. Castiel remembered a teenage boy failing school, not this man, an apparently self-made businessman in computer games for handhelds (according to Gabriel, hiring Charlie to work for him had been a goldmine.)

This twenty-seven year old Gabriel still drank too hard and laughed too easily, but there was something different about his jokes. He didn't make his rapturous audience the butt of them; instead his teasing voice would turn inward and he'd smile like he was letting you in on a private secret. Like maybe he was laughing at himself most of all. Balthazar still thought he was a douche-bag for leaving, and didn't hesitate to point this out. The three of them had had lunch together, after Meg phoned saying she needed to vent.

Meg had spent the whole time talking about her weekend with the man at the pub, Crowley, "— _Total_ asshole. Said he was a music producer who could sign me. What a joke—" She was unequivocally over the entire affair, or so she said. In the meantime she was taking Gabriel up on his offer to teach her voodoo, and Castiel tried not to be too concerned. Balthazar had glared daggers at Gabriel the entire time.

"Call your dog off." Gabriel had kicked Castiel's boot with his own naked foot, like they were pals. His tone was light. He kept making these gestures, trying to draw Castiel into some kind of an interaction. Castiel couldn't understand what he was trying to accomplish. Their family was in pieces; a few shallow conversations couldn't rekindle the connection. With their father always away for business — the absent man who could barely recall he had ever had kids, never remembering to phone on their birthdays — it was all up to the generously paid help to home-school them from a young age. When Gabriel had run away, he'd left Castiel alone. 

He had known Gabriel had been struggling at school, failing all but English and spending the majority of the school day behind the bleachers with drugs and cheap alcohol in the company of like-minded boys who thought they were above it all. He'd been exasperated at his older brother. Surely, he'd thought, with the certainty of a nine-year-old, one day Gabriel would realize what giant dork he was being and straighten out. Castiel at that age was already dreaming about university and how he would make his family proud.

Then there was Zachariah, with his interested eyes, and Castiel had spent the next year not thinking much about anything but how to survive. He'd lost track of his sixteen-year-old brother and maybe something had happened to Gabriel, something that had pushed him to the breaking point. Castiel didn't know what it was. All he knew was one day he was ten, his life was destroyed and his older brother was gone. Now that he was twenty-one and Gabriel had slid so seamlessly back into it, Castiel felt torn between the old memories of a brother he had missed and the abandonment he felt after Gabriel had ran away.

The biggest thing he had never reconciled himself with was that Gabriel hadn't believed him. At ten, Castiel had told him about what had happened with Zachariah, and Gabriel had laughed at him, told him to stop making stuff up. He wondered if Gabriel even remembered. He had known Zachariah's face in the sheriff's station, but it must have seemed like a trivial memory to him. To Castiel, it was an experience that had defined him.

He still remembered the shadow Zachariah had cast, standing against the opposite wall, looming over his then ten-year-old self. Zachariah had already masturbated against the wall, groaning as his eyes roved over Castiel's face and body, sitting shivering in his clothes on the opposite side of the room. The pastor's black clothes were untouched; he had always taken care not to leave any visible traces of his dalliances. He had never touched Castiel until then, but he liked to be watched. Sometimes it was him and Uriel, sitting on the bed in the pastor's private rooms, watching him jerk off while he babbled about youth and innocence and corruption. That day it was only Castiel. He had watched Zachariah straighten and he knew, from the shift in the man's emotions that today Zachariah wasn't content to just watch. He wanted to touch.

The revulsion at the thought rose in his chest. He had thought himself mostly indifferent to this performance. He didn't like to watch Zachariah touch himself, but it was easier than saying no to a well-respected pastor. The thought of Zachariah laying those dirty fingers on Castiel's own body made him shudder.

Zachariah paused. He looked strangely wary, standing in the middle of the room like that, pants still unzipped and a hand outstretched towards Castiel. He must have recovered because he was once again looming ever closer. Castiel, still figuring out how his powers worked, knew in that second Zachariah had felt Castiel's own revulsion. It had touched him.

As the pastor reached for Castiel, a shark's smile on his face, fingers grasping Castiel's chin and tilting his head up, Castiel did the unthinkable. He crammed all his fear, and his revulsion, his hatred of the man and the helplessness at the situation he had found himself in, into a tight ball and threw it at Zachariah.

He remembered Zachariah staggering back as though shot. The man's eyes were the size of dinner plates, and he was suddenly sweating profusely. He went down to one knee, grasping at his chest, mouth gaping like a fish for air. Castiel didn't stick around; he was out the door like a mouse that had escaped a mousetrap with their life.

Gabriel hadn't believed his story. Oh, he had been angry that Castiel was admitting to using his powers on others to influence them, but he didn't think it likely that a pastor as well-respected as Reverend Adler would try to interfere with the boys coming to his church. That seemed unthinkable.

Castiel knew what had happened. He knew he had found a way to protect himself.

When he ran across Zachariah some time later at an official function, the old pastor had staggered back from him as though he'd seen a ghost. Castiel had made it a game with him. Every time Zachariah would hold a speech outside of his church, Castiel would attend. He would get up in the middle of the speech and he would wait for Zachariah to notice him. He would watch him stumble and pale, and curtail the speech. It felt like a triumph. He felt like an avenging angel, sent to earth to punish wicked men like Zachariah. Make them burn with fear and shame in his presence.

He wasn't sure if Gabriel's amulet would make him wholly unable to use his powers. Sometimes he thought that after twenty years, he didn't want to give them up.

A shadow falling over him made Castiel abandon his reflections and look up from the open textbook. 

"Hey," Dean said, standing in the sun.

"Hello, Dean."

He could be irrationally annoyed at how beautiful Dean was. That was allowed.

The sun-kissed spikes of his hair were ruffled as though he'd just gotten out of bed after a good tumble with a lover. Castiel fought the urge to straighten his own messy dark hair, and stood.

"Psychology?" Dean asked.

Castiel stared at him without words, until Dean motioned towards the book he was still clutching in his hands. "Oh. Yes. For class."

"That your major?"

"No, just a class I'm taking." Castiel wondered if Dean wanted to know because he was taking some of the same classes. He had never seen him around campus. "What about you?"

"Huh? Oh, no." Dean shifted from foot to foot. "I'm taking some online courses."

"Oh."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean bristled. "Disappointed? You don't think that counts because they're free?"

"I was hoping we might see each other at college," Castiel clarified.

It was Dean's turn to stare a little.

"We don't need to be on campus to see each other," he eventually said. There was a slow grin starting on Dean's face that did unspeakable things to Castiel's insides. He shivered. Dean probably thought Castiel was flirting with him. He wasn't sure what to do with the fact that apparently Dean liked him enough to be flirting back. Cautiously, knowing that he had already misread the situation once before, he said:

"I'm glad the situation with Bobby seems to be resolving itself."

"Yeah, trying to make the most of it." Dean said. He seemed like the kind of person who dived right in once he committed himself. Castiel imagined getting some of that focused attention fixed on himself, and fought not to blush. Dean went on, "And you? Just hanging around here hoping to see me?" He looked pleased with himself, like he had seen straight inside Castiel and knew what he was thinking. Castiel hoped to God that wasn't actually true.

"My car still needs fixing," Castiel reminded him. 

"Right." Dean said, still grinning, "The car." 

He had somehow gotten closer to Castiel, making him want to look down, do something ridiculous like see how far away their feet were from each other and try to calculate if it mattered. Instead, he found himself swaying closer, unable to look away from Dean's eyes. He had a feeling something important was on Dean's lips; he looked like he was keeping himself from saying something.

Whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by arrival of a new customer. Dean startled and stepped away, going to see what the noise was about.

A very pregnant woman got out of the cab and walked towards them, waddling slightly. She had beautiful long dark hair, falling down her shoulders, and a kind-looking face. She lit up with a pleasant buzz of attraction when she spotted Dean, making a pretty picture of himself in his grey shirt and jeans. Castiel was just admiring the view from behind, keenly feeling the loss of their proximity as Dean went to talk to the young woman. Castiel hung back a few feet to observe them.

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and ran a hand through his hair, trying to make himself presentable.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"Lisa," she smiled, and it lit up her pretty face. "Lisa Braeden. Is Mr. Singer in? I'm supposed to pick my car up."

"That your Honda, over there?" Dean motioned to the side with a thumb, and when she nodded eagerly, he said, "Bobby had me bring it out. He's in the back, he'll be out soon and then you can settle the bill with him."

"About that..." She flushed, and Castiel could tell it wasn't faked. She truly felt embarrassed to be asking. "Is there any way I can defer paying?" If the low-cut blouse was an attempt at enticement it was a half-hearted one. The desperate hope pulsed off of her in waves. Not for the first time, Castiel wished he could tell other people what he sensed because knowing how she felt made it easy to believe she was honest. If Dean knew he could trust her, would he make a different call?

Dean didn't say anything, so she rushed to explain, "It's just that, I'm having a hard time with my rent right now and..." She pulled her hand down to her stomach, lowering deep, brown eyes to look at her baby. 

"What do you do for a living?" Dean asked. Castiel wondered if he was buying her plea, or if he was just humoring her and flirting, the way he flirted with every girl as pretty as Lisa. If he was showing off in front of Castiel, showing him how well-liked and desirable he was. As though it needed showing.

"Yoga instructor," she said, some humour dancing in her eyes despite her tired appearance.

Dean whistled slightly. "That's..."

"I had it all budgeted for the next three months, but apparently my car had other ideas. I don't have the money to pay for it and my rent." Her hand was still rubbing her belly, as though trying to soothe the baby inside from the worry she was experiencing.

"The father?" Dean tilted his head.

"Out of the picture," she said shortly. A flash of pain accompanied that, but it was quickly gone. Lisa pursed her lips. "Look, I get it if you can't do anything. I'll just—I'll figure it out." Her eyes filled with tears but she blinked them back. Her resolve not to give into emotions was draining for her but it worked; the tears didn't spill. She started digging in her purse, biting her lip, when Dean touched her arm at the elbow.

"Wait here," Dean said, striding inside. He came out dangling the keys. "Here you go." She clasped them out of his hand, her entire body reverberating with surprise. She hadn't actually thought it would help to ask. 

"Wow." She whispered, "That's...." Lisa trailed off and just looked at the keys in her hand blankly.

"Yeah, I'm a bleeding heart." Dean grinned, covering the truth of the statement with a joke, "Now it's time for you to skedaddle." He motioned towards the car.

"Really, thank you!" The smile on her face was huge; Castiel felt his own lips try to curl up just from the feedback of her relief. Dean had to motion for her to go again, but she asked, "Won't you get in trouble?"

"Don't worry about me, Lisa." The way he pronounced her name was positively pornographic. It made her smile with an entirely different kind of pleasure, "Been in a few tough spots myself. I've got you covered. Just get out of here!" He put a finger to his lips, bidding her to silence.

She didn't stay longer, getting into the car with difficulty and revving out of there with a speed that Castiel thought was somewhat unwise.

"What was that?" Bobby barked in their direction, rolling out of the house at the noise. Castiel had an inexplicable urge to stand between Dean and the storm that was about to descend upon him.

 

* * *

 

"Jesus Christ, boy! Are you stupid?" Bobby shook his head in disappointment. They were speaking inside, behind a screen door, but their voices had been loud enough for Castiel to overhear everything from his place outside on the veranda.

Castiel didn't need any empathic powers to see how the words struck Dean.

"Sorry, sir," Dean said in a straightforward tone that masked none of the hurt in his eyes.

"Fat lot of good it does me when I have to balance my checkbooks," Bobby growled, "You know business ain't exactly booming since I became an invalid." He slapped a hand against the metal of his wheel. The anger wasn't directed at Dean, not exactly, but Castiel saw Dean's expression crumple nonetheless.

"She's about to give birth and it's probably her last paycheck for months," Dean snapped, and strode out the door. He nearly banged into Castiel, who hadn't had enough time to jump away from the screen. Dean eyed him furiously for a moment before deciding not to deal with this now. He strode past Castiel, into the backyard.

Castiel followed him.

He found Dean next to the Impala, leaning against her bent and broken hood. Castiel wondered how much of a metaphor this car was for Dean, a metal representation of the state of his life. If he could fix it, did it mean he could fix everything else? Castiel couldn't watch him try and not attempt to help.

He walked closer and stood behind the man.

"I saw what you did for that woman," he said. 

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Dean asked, still facing away and leaning against his car.

"I don't know if it was right or wrong. I just know that I liked that you did it."

"Really?" Now Dean turned around. How little faith in him it took!

Castiel nodded, not needing to speak.

"I screwed up, though." Dean motioned towards the house where Castiel could distantly feel Bobby still stewing in frustration and renewed guilt. "But I'd do it again." He ran a hand across the Impala's black hood, collecting the dust on his fingers before blowing it off. His fingers were scraped up from work. "If he scraps the Impala because of that," Dean sighed, and shook his head. Slapped his hand against the hood with the force that had to hurt him more than the car. His eyes were watering, perhaps from the glare of the setting sun, just sinking past the tree-tops. It cast deep shadows across his fine cheekbones and gave definition to his long lashes, making his face look almost astonishingly handsome.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked. Without his emphatic powers he was hopeless at comforting someone, but wanted to anyway, desperately.

"I'm fine." He swallowed against whatever he read on Castiel's face.

Castiel shook his head, put an arm on Dean's shoulder. "You should have let me talk to Bobby in the first place."

"Yeah? You couldn't lie to save your life."

Castiel ignored the remark, changing the subject instead. "So what's going on with the car? How is the Impala?"

"Trashed," Dean said shortly.

Castiel stepped closer, putting an arm on Dean's shoulder, squeezing it, reveling in the warmth of Dean seeping into his hand. He couldn't even remember the last time he had voluntarily touched someone like that. People often reached for him, but it was different to want to touch someone. He wanted to touch Dean, if only to make sure he was real. He was glad Dean allowed it. 

"Can you fix it?"

"No idea," Dean said. "I could probably do it if I had parts, but there are so many. They'll be expensive, too."

"We'll think of something." Castiel said. It was a pointless reassurance but he had to try. 

The squeal of the wheels announced him as Mr. Singer showed up again. "I see your friend's still here," he said, looking Castiel over with cool appraisal.

"I'm here to give Dean a ride home." Castiel invented.

Singer's eyes slid over to Dean's face, no doubt noticing the state of him. Dean flushed, embarrassed to be seen by Bobby after an emotional moment. He didn't want pity, especially not from this man.

"Good," was all Singer said on the subject. "Well, what's done is done, kid." Their earlier conversation seemed to have been put aside. "You thinking of fixing your car?" he asked, clearly having overheard them talking.

"Yes, sir." Dean said.

"You can work on it sometime when I'm around." That was as close to an apology as Bobby Singer came. Castiel felt the contriteness in him, and wondered at it. Bobby had a full right to be angry with Dean, given that he was depriving him of income. Yet whatever pure-hearted motives persuaded Dean to give Lisa a pass seemed to be working on Bobby as well. Castiel suddenly felt lucky to know them. The empathy Dean had shown Lisa and that Bobby had shown Dean put his own powers to shame.

Dean swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Thank you," Castiel said, attempting the light-hearted tone of someone who didn't understand the dynamics at play here. "Let's go, Dean."

His hand slid from around Dean, and he went over to sit in the driver's seat of his car. He felt the loss of Dean's warmth acutely. Meanwhile, the steely eyes of the old man were like a trap that took all of them in and let nothing out.

"Thank you very much, sir." Dean found his voice, looking unsure if he should wait for a dismissal.

"Right," the old man said, and that was it. If Bobby was still upset about Dean letting Lisa off without paying, he was keeping it to himself. Dean shuffled from one foot to the other, but it was obvious the discussion was over. 

Dean climbed into the passenger's seat of Castiel's car.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Just...let's get away from here," Dean said, pressing the back of his head against the seat for a moment and closing his eyes. In the confines of the car, Castiel could sense a faint smell of car oil from him, a metallic scent Castiel would now always associate with Dean.

Castiel looked at him, but didn't say another word before revving the engine and pulling out of the lot.

"This is messed up," Dean said after a short drive, rubbing a hand over his eyes, "Hey, Cas, pull over."

Castiel looked at him curiously, but obeyed.

When they were stopped by the side of the highway, isolated from civilization by miles of open fields, Dean turned to him and asked, "You really came to get your car fixed?" 

"Is it about to explode? Is that why we stopped?"

"No, Cas," Dean laughed. "That's not why we stopped."

"Then why?"

Dean moved closer. Castiel figured out why they had stopped. His eyes slid to Dean's lips. It was inevitable. He'd been imagining how it would feel, and now that Dean was so close he couldn't live without finding out.

"Tell me if you don't want this," Dean whispered, and then kissed him. Or rather, he moved first, but Castiel surged up against him, sealing their mouths together. The kiss became passionate almost instantly, neither of them hesitating to deepen it. Castiel felt a jolt in his spine as Dean pressed into him, making him slide back in the seat. He wrapped a hand around Dean's broad shoulders to keep them together. His other hand was supporting him against the seat. 

When they broke apart to catch their breath they turned tentative, the kisses slowing, as though they couldn't let the moment end completely just yet. "You didn't come for the car," Dean said, moving up a little. Castiel found the hand around Dean's neck playing with the short hairs there.

"I came for you," he admitted. 

Dean's eyes darkened. He telegraphed the intention for the next kiss too — not out of uncertainty, there could be no doubt Castiel wanted him, not with Dean climbed practically on top of him, their bodies flush against each other. He wanted to watch Castiel meet him halfway.

The pendant around Dean's neck slipped free of his shirt and was brushing against Castiel's chest. He slid a hand down Dean's side, over the leather string, and rolled the metallic talisman between his fingers. He remembered Gabriel showing him drawings that looked eerily similar to the little idol. But Dean was kissing him again, nuzzling the side of his face and Castiel forgot all about the amulet, tilting his head back and allowing Dean all the access he wanted. His eyes slipped closed.

 

* * *

 

The following days were bliss.

Castiel visited Dean at Bobby's when Dean was done with whatever Bobby thought up for him during the day. They'd made out in Castiel's car more than once — the car still hadn't been fixed, but neither one of them wanted to bring that up. When Castiel wasn't with Dean, he was thinking about him, thinking how to make him feel all the pleasure Castiel wanted to give him.

It was different with Dean, because he didn't get overwhelmed by Dean's emotions, like he always had in the past at the first touch of another's skin. He kept thinking he should examine what he felt when he was with Dean, put proper names to the shivers running up his spine, the electricity low in his belly, but he always forgot. When he kissed Dean, or pressed up against him, there was so much going on in his body and in his heart that it was all he could do to keep following the instinct to pull Dean closer, let him in further. Dean's hands, cautious at first, had taken on a more and more exploratory feel, roaming under his shirt and feeling under his belt. 

He wanted to give Dean what Dean clearly wanted from him, but the circumstances hadn't been right. Not only had they never talked about it, Dean had never voiced any of the desires so evident in the slide of his thigh between Castiel's legs as they rubbed up against each other just to the point of losing all care. They hadn't been anywhere together other than Castiel's car in the middle of an open field.

Castiel thought Bobby knew what was going on with them, because they hadn't exactly been hiding it. Last time he visited, Bobby had had a third beer already out, motioning for Castiel to take it when he came closer. Dean had smiled at him, tipping his head back and drinking from the bottle in the way that made Castiel's mouth go completely dry.

Tonight, however, Castiel was not with Dean. It was the night of Zachariah Adler's speech on "Family and Ethics Within the Community," presented at the theater auditorium in the town's college. The posters had been splattered around campus for weeks, making Castiel wince and turn away whenever he saw Zachariah's smug grin.

As always, the effect of seeing him in person was even worse. Castiel sat far in the center of the auditorium, marveling at the hypocrisy.

"—the future of our children. Our children," Zachariah was just saying. He paused significantly, looked around the room. "Because when we invest in a child, we invest—" 

The roaring noise in Castiel's ears drowned out the rest. He could feel the heightened energy in the room, multitudes of people captured by a single idea simultaneously. Of course, Zachariah had picked his speech points well. The farce was sickening. Castiel got up. 

He was alone in the crowd, and Zachariah's eyes slid to him involuntarily. Castiel saw him pale. He might even have stumbled, but he quickly remembered himself and struggled to keep going with the speech.

Castiel turned and left the room, feeling eyes burning into his back.

Outside in an empty hallway he felt the glare of an attendant. She obviously thought he was terribly rude to leave a speech mid-way through, especially of someone as important as Reverend Adler. Somehow the momentary victory over Zachariah felt hollow. He could still scare the man witless for a second, but what did that amount to? How many children had the man scared out of his wits in his long tenure as pastor of this community? He had to do something to stop him, if only so he would stop seeing his face everywhere. Could he do something with his powers? Something stronger than a momentary fright?

Castiel rubbed his hands against his sweater vest, feeling their clammy coldness. He worked to empty himself, empty his heart of all the emotion that churned within. Maybe Gabriel was right. He was veering into an uncharted territory. He imagined the look on Dean's face if he knew the way Castiel's mind was going, the faint disgust, curled in his lips. Castiel shook his head to clear it and took a deep calming breath. Dean didn't have to know anything about his powers. Things were going marvelously between the two of them so far; Castiel didn't even miss the help of his empathy in puzzling people out when he was with Dean. With him, Castiel felt simply human, at the will of all the instincts a normal human would have. Dean himself was a kind of cure.

 

* * *

 

It was a mistake to see Gabriel and the rest of his friends straight after Zachariah. His walls were thin, and they were a pushy bunch. They knew he was seeing Dean. They had mostly let him have Dean to himself with hardly a comment, other than Balthazar remarking that daydreaming wasn't like him. Balthazar blamed Gabriel for Castiel's general moodiness lately, and Meg had said something along the lines of anybody who could put that kind of dopey expression on Castiel's face had to be important. He had flushed, making her roll her eyes and pat his cheek. Now Balthazar and Gabriel were insisting on meeting his boyfriend, a word that made Castiel shift uncomfortably in the seat at Benny's. Meg had found a new romantic prospect not five minutes after coming inside, and was now flirting with the tall, dark gentleman in a business suit at the bar, obliviously playing with her hair.

He had warned Dean on the phone that they were dining at the pub where he worked, and Dean hadn't sounded upset. In fact, Dean had said a few things that still made Castiel's ears turn slightly pink to think about.

"I thought he'd be something special." Balthazar sniffed when Dean first came in, heading towards the back to drop off his bag and leather jacket.

"He is," Castiel said, rather firmly, making Gabriel look over at him curiously. He was also peripherally aware of Benny, wiping down beer nozzles not a meter away from their table, tucked into a wall. He wondered how sharp Benny's hearing was, and how good of a friend he was to Dean. 

Balthazar wondered, in the meantime, "Why's that?"

"Because when I'm next to him, I know who I am." That captured it neatly, and yet didn't give it justice.

"It all becomes clear, huh? Destiny, all that melodramatic crap?" Balthazar snorted. "What are you a Disney princess?"

"Not like that," Castiel said. He could never explain how good it felt to know his emotions were only his own. Everything he did around Dean was his own choice. That would have been enough for Castiel to want him, even if Dean hadn't turned out to be unexpectedly kind, devoted and generous to a fault.

Balthazar laughed. "Whatever you say, Cassie."

Castiel didn't protest the diminutive. After all, there was no difference between this and the nickname Dean picked for him, and Castiel didn't mind 'Cas' at all. His thoughts turned to wonder. Until Dean, he had always been _Castiel_. All his life, nobody has ever called him anything but his full name or stupid nicknames like 'kiddo' or 'Cassie'. Gabriel became Gabe as soon as he laid eyes on the cute cheerleader at age fourteen and needed to fit in. But now that he had spent some time being 'Cas', he wondered how he had spent the rest of his life being anything but.

"Well that's enough of that gooey-eyed look." Balthazar poked him in the side to bring him back from the reminiscence. "If anime stars start sparkling around you, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"Hey, anime is an art-form," a low, mellow voice said beside him. Castiel looked up startled into Dean's smiling face and green eyes.

"Hi, I'm Dean," he said, with a small wave. He stood with his feet wide near Castiel's side, looking them over. Castiel introduced Balthazar and Gabriel. He looked for Meg, but she and her latest flirting partner had sequestered themselves somewhere else.

"And I'm Castiel's older brother," Gabriel said, stretching out from the back to shake Dean's hand. Castiel barely held back from rolling his eyes. He heard Balthazar snort something bitterly into his drink. Castiel didn't want to let their bickering affect him.

He stood up, blocking the table from Dean's view slightly, saying in a low voice. "When do you get off?"

Dean arched an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward, whispering into the space between them. "Maybe now, if you'd follow me to the back."

Castiel lowered his eyes, considering. Would it truly be obvious and out of place if he took Dean up on his suggestion? It was strangely tempting. His lowered eyes fell on an object on Dean's chest.

He had seen the pendant Dean was wearing many times before, but this time was different. Whether it was the proximity of Gabriel, sitting right behind him, or he was simply ready to acknowledge what he had known internally all this time he wasn't sure. Castiel realized in that precise moment that the amulet Dean was wearing was the same as in the picture Gabriel had shown him. The shape he'd glanced at so briefly on Gabriel's drawing was seared into his memory.

He reached out, feeling like he was moving in a dream, his hand outside of his control. Castiel grasped the amulet and quickly pushed it over the hem of Dean's black t-shirt, underneath where it wouldn't be seen. The tips of the idol's horns stood out in relief under the thin cotton.

Dean glanced down and then up at him, uncomprehending. To distract him, Castiel leaned forward and kissed his lips lightly, his mind blank. He understood why he hadn't been sensing anything from Dean all this time. Dean was the one guarded by the powerful spells on the amulet.

"Uh...what was I saying....?" Dean said, blinking at him slowly. He licked his lips, his eyes falling down to the level of Castiel's.

"Finish your shift, and come back here." Castiel pushed himself to say, his voice was like gravel.

"Okay." Dean bit his own lip for a second. He put a hand on Castiel's arm, sliding it down looking almost regretful, as he moved away.

Castiel sat down, feeling like he was almost in a trance.

If Dean had the amulet, that meant Castiel had found what he and Gabriel had thought was impossible: a way to make Castiel normal. (It would fix everything between him and Gabriel, he was sure of it.) If Dean had the amulet, that meant he could take it off and Castiel would know exactly how he felt. (What Castiel was to him.) No more mystery, no more wondering if Dean was in as deep as he was. A short walk through Dean's emotions would confirm everything Castiel tentatively tried to hope for.

His eyes landed on Gabriel, staring at him expectantly.

Castiel paled. His instinctive need to hide the knowledge of Dean and the amulet from Gabriel spoke to a deeper truth within himself. He could never violate Dean's privacy this way. Whatever Dean had to give him, had to be offered freely by Dean himself. 

Shaken at the way he had let himself imagine taking the innermost truths out of Dean's heart, Castiel sat quiet. He was grateful that reason had reasserted itself over his errant desires. More grateful still that he had Gabriel to remind him of how much it hurt when the people closest to you betrayed your trust.

"I don't like him," Balthazar was saying. "You look like you've been turned inside-out, Cassie. It's unnatural."

"Well, I like him," Gabriel said immediately, not simply to be contradictory. "It's about time someone broke through that wall you've got around yourself, kiddo."

Castiel said archly, "You know that sometimes walls are a good thing."

Gabriel's mouth tightened, he didn't like the past thrown in his face. Well, tough. He had been taking things on a progressively stronger scale as a teenager, and there had been nobody to stop him. Castiel imploring him to stay off the drugs only seemed to spur him on to wilder and riskier behaviour. Castiel hadn't understood it back then, but now he knew them for the attempts at escape that they had been. Gabriel had been running away from him, learning how to dull the emotions in Castiel's presence until it was all one incoherent mess of euphoria and Zen nothingness. That was, of course, until Gabriel decided to physically run away.

"Somebody has to look out for your best interests," Gabriel said shortly.

"Yeah, you're a fantastic brother, alright." Balthazar sneered from his seat. "Where were you when he needed you?"

"What in hell are you talking about?" Gabriel's tone of voice was amused, but it covered a cold center.

"Stop it," Castiel said, putting a calming hand on Balthazar's arm. He felt a spike of jealous protectiveness. Balthazar didn't like having his older-brother role usurped. He shrugged Castiel's hand off.

"You left him when he was a _child_. So you don't get to try protect him now."

"I get to do whatever I want; _you_ get to shut up about it," Gabriel said.

"Leave each other alone," Castiel put a hand out on each of their chests. Balthazar had half-risen out of his seat, but at Castiel's touch he subsided. Gabriel threw his hand off, quickly moving away. Castiel looked at him, wondering if he was really so bad that Gabriel would think Castiel was using his powers.

"What?" Gabriel returned his hurt look, somewhat meanly. He shook his head and looked away, crossing the arms on his chest, the picture of petulance. The emotions emanating from him were shame and fear. He had forgotten to dampen them with those tricks he was so proud of, and Castiel felt everything.

He leaned closer to Gabriel, to whisper. "I have never used my powers against anyone but Zachariah." It was a confession he had to make, to set his brother at ease.

"Huh?" Gabriel looked thrown for a loop. He glanced between Balthazar and Castiel, as though expecting one of them to say this was all a joke. Balthazar was too far away to hear, but he could glare at Gabriel from his seat with vigor.

"Christ on a tortilla, do you still hate Zachariah that much?" Gabriel shook his head in disappointment.

Castiel's vision whited out. 

"You bastard," Balthazar threw, perhaps seeing Castiel's face fall. Balthazar didn't let himself get involved with many people, but he was emotionally involved with Castiel and everything turned personal now. He tried to put a hand on Castiel's shoulder, to get Castiel on his side of the argument, but Castiel didn't want to be touched. Not with the ghost of Zachariah floating between them at that moment. Balthazar's anger still rolled over him like a crushing wave. 

"You shut your mouth," Gabriel's previously coldly amused tone was heating up in anger, directed at Balthazar. Castiel still couldn't move. He couldn't stop them. He felt nauseated.

"Cas, are you okay?" Dean had come over and his warm hand was on Castiel's shoulder. "You're white as a sheet." All of his attention was on Castiel, although he'd undoubtedly heard the snatches of conversation. The other two were in their own world, Gabriel glaring daggers at Balthazar, and Balthazar with his mouth twisted. 

"I'm gonna be sick," Castiel said.

"C'mon," Dean tugged him along. Out of the seat, out of the pub.

"Hey!" Gabriel cried out noticing their departure, but was ignored as Dean bodily shoved Castiel through a throng of people and out the door. Gabriel shouted in his wake, "Are you still telling _that_ tall tale, bro?"

The cool air out in the open blasted against Castiel's face.

"Those two douche-bags are too busy measuring their dick size," Dean was saying. "What do you need, Cas?"

"Just stay here with me. For a moment."

"Sure," Dean offered easily. He wrapped his hand around Castiel's shoulders. The faint aroma of greasy food and liquor clung to Dean's uniform. "Let's walk, alright? I'll square it with Benny later."

"Yeah. Thank you, Dean." He looked at the man by his side, so grateful to see the warm concern in those green eyes he felt something seize in his chest.

"No problem." Dean's gaze turned distant. "I've been in that situation plenty of times." Giving a wry grin at Castiel's confusion he elaborated, "My family used to fight a lot. Dad and Sammy, they never got along. I always got stuck in the middle. To be brutally honest it was killing me. But I don't think...I don't think they noticed. They were both so certain each one was right."

"Balthazar was...he was just trying to help," Castiel said. Even though the kind of help he'd tried to give was exactly everything Castiel didn't want.

"I know. Sammy was trying to help too. He'd fight with Dad about the way Dad treated us, and I think he thought he was defending me or something. He didn't get it. I could always defend myself, I just didn't want them to get upset."

"Dean," Castiel said, the analogy not sitting well with him. "Did you really think you had to defend yourself against your _father_ by yourself?" Dean threw him a bewildered look. "It doesn't matter how grown up you were. That's not something you should have had to do on your own. I'm glad Sam was on your side."

"Yeah, well." Dean ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know."

They walked for a minute in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Castiel was wondering if it was his silence that had ruined everything between him and Gabriel. If he had insisted, if he hadn't folded so easily, maybe his brother would have believed him.

"So that was your family, huh."

Castiel nodded, downcast.

"Hey, maybe it's time you met my family," Dean said.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean hadn't minded when Castiel pulled him in for a kiss after they parked by Ellen's bar. The feeling of kissing him was so different from their frantic kisses from before. This kiss was more exploratory, perhaps because Castiel was calmer. He knew that Dean inviting him to meet Sam was important, because of how often Dean talked about his younger brother.

"Ellen's fostering Sammy," Dean explained. "But it's only temporary." He didn't elaborate, just motioned Castiel to follow him towards the building with the bar.

It was a rather decrepit looking place with the name "The Roadhouse" in faded red lettering around the front. "Ellen runs this place," Dean said sounding strangely proud. "It's closed today."

Dean knocked, the "Closed" sign evidently not a deterrent. The door slid open to a crack shortly, and a girl of about thirteen peeked through the slit. Recognizing Dean, the teenager opened the door wider, holding it with one hand without letting them pass. She had on low cut jeans and a black t-shirt, her serious brown eyes on a pretty face framed by blond hair. 

The girl in the doorway had a hand on her hip and a demanding look in her eyes,

" _Dean_ ," she drawled her greeting, then turned her eyes to Castiel, "And who're you?"

"This is Cas," Dean indicated with a thumb. When the girl still didn't move, he lifted his eyebrows. "Are you gonna let us in?"

She rolled her wide eyes and turned with a shrug, throwing the door open, "Come on in!" she said over her shoulder. A faint scent of lavender perfume went with her. "Sammy's in the back," she said, evidently loudly enough to be overheard because a boy's voice came back with a put-out:

"Don't call me Sammy!"

She may have chuckled before climbing the bar stool and returning to the book spread out in front on the table.

"Jo's Ellen's brat," Dean told Castiel in sotto voice, but her small blond head still whipped around, eyes narrowed in suspicion in their direction. Dean gave a disarming grin and hurried to the backroom. Cas glanced at the girl, studying him with an amused air and an arched eyebrow from her high-seat, and considered it prudent to follow Dean.

"Is the she-devil out front?" Asked a young male voice, just as Castiel stepped into the old common room. The space was shaded with thick burgundy curtains that had seen better days.

Dean laughed. "Fighting with Jo again?"

Sam — for the young man standing in front of Castiel had to be Dean's brother — threw up his hands at this clearly oft-discussed topic. He was shorter than Dean, probably in the middle of a growth spurt and gangly with it. Brown eyed and brown haired, he had a cute kind of a heart-shaped face. Those sharp eyes focused on Castiel now with interest,

"Hi, I'm Sam," he went for a handshake, which stumped Castiel initially because the act was mature for his age. He felt a curious mix of emotions from Sam, which he struggled to analyze even as he took the hand, to shake it briefly but firmly. Dean barely let Castiel get a few words out, "I'm Castiel. Please to meet you—" before Dean was saying: "So, how's Bones?"

Sam's pleasantly polite expression drooped. "Same," he said, slipping into a teenage belligerent tone much more typical of a sixteen-year-old. In the back of the room, on some blankets, lay a golden retriever, clearly past his prime in years. "I was just getting him some water, but he won't drink."

Castiel meanwhile, tried to get a grasp on Sam with his empathic powers. There was a strange aura about the teenager, like a tang of metal in the air before a lightning storm. Castiel couldn't make heads or tails of it. While Dean was as unfathomable as a deep dark lake, nothing slid past him that wasn't expressed in body language or his voice or in the incredibly expressive face Castiel was growing rather attached to, Sam was a different kind of mystery. Castiel could clearly feel a mix of concern for the dog, a pleasant buzz at seeing his older brother, but the emotions crackled like electricity across Castiel's nerves. It felt down right painful to "look" with his senses. Castiel quickly curtailed himself, shoring up his inner defenses so he wouldn't feel Sam so acutely. Both of the Winchesters brothers were so interesting, he couldn't wait to find out what made them different. He wondered what had happened to their mother, and if she had been peculiar in her own way just like her two sons.

"So you're Dean's _boyfriend_ ," Sam was saying, somewhat archly, with a curiously teasing look towards Dean. Castiel glanced between them.

"Shut up, Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam shot back, undeterred. And, "I saw you macking on him out the window." He grinned, and ran away when Dean pretended to throw a towel at him.

"Don't mind him." Dean brushed a thumb over Castiel's palm, calming him. Castiel smiled down at the hand touching his.

"Let him hold your hand; he's dying to, you know." Sam said, keeping the length of the table between him and Dean.

"I swear to _God_ , Sammy—!" Dean's words were furious.

"Okay, okay," Sam came closer, lifting his hands palms outward, "Sorry. I'll behave." He smiled at Castiel, his mood was non-confrontational. "Really, it's good to finally meet you."

Dean coughed and quickly ploughed on. "Cas goes to college," he said, in Castiel's opinion somewhat unnecessarily, it wasn't that big of an accomplishment. To Castiel, he said, "Sam's gonna be a lawyer someday." He sounded deeply proud.

Sam shifted from foot to foot, trying to take the implied compliment graciously but clearly embarrassed.

"He won't if he doesn't finish his homework." Another woman came from the side entrance. She had dirty-blonde hair and an air around her of someone not to be messed with. Her eyes when she took in Castiel were like steel traps, noticing everything.

"Castiel, right?" the woman said, "I'm Ellen." She shook his hand, the contact intensifying the first impression of someone with a decisively cast mind. She tipped her chin at them. "You boys hungry?"

Dean's stomach rumbled in response.

Castiel felt himself flushing as though he was somehow responsible for Dean's egregious response, which was ridiculous but only made him feel more exposed. Ellen pulled out a couple of already made sandwiches from the fridge, took them out of the plastic wrap and set to warm them up and melt the processed cheese. "I'll make new ones for Sam and Jo later."

"Free dinner." Dean winked at Castiel. He could only stare back at Dean in exasperated amusement. Somehow the imagination which he had tried to beat down had pictured something a little more upscale when he though of where Dean would take him for their first real date. Still, he would be a fool not to see he was being invited into the heart of Dean's little circle of closest people. Castiel wasn't about to waste his chance to get to know them, get a feel with his empathic powers. Ellen, for example, was like sampling dark chocolate, the slight bitter tang that rang through the undercurrent of her every feeling around Dean somehow making the experience richer. She truly felt about Sam like her own child. The love she felt for Sam was a nearly tidal wave. Castiel looked down at the table-top, blinking long, shocked blinks at the overpowering feeling. The fear...did she know Dean wanted to take Sam away from her? It might have explained her caution around the older brother. 

Sam's emotions upon seeing Ellen brightened. It wasn't a conscious reaction, rather it was something that Castiel had observed about close families. Even with acquaintances or coworkers, whenever a familiar face came into view a person's entire aura would lighten, as though relaxing from a tension. Dr. Visyak had explained it as an involuntary fight or flight response of the nervous system that quickly evaluated each person for danger. The closer the two people were, the more obvious the effect. That's how Castiel could tell that even though Sam and Jo bickered, they had each other's back in the end — they felt safe in each other's company. All four people in this room felt so tightly connected. Castiel could only reflect bitterly at the chasm that divided him from his own family.

Sam meanwhile, was arguing Bones' case with some ardor. Apparently, the dog came from a negligent owner in their neighborhood, and the vet bill was straining Ellen's tight budget.

"He isn't your dog, Sam," Ellen was saying as she worked behind the counter, preparing for that night's clientele.

"But you _know_ Gordon doesn't take care of him! He doesn't even remember he _has_ a dog."

"Nevertheless—"

"Nothing!" Sam interrupted, standing up, "I feed him on my own allowance, and if we take him to the pound they will put him down. We can't do that."

"We can't keep him here, Sam," she sighed.

Sam's eyes turned woeful, "Why not?" 

"Because, Jo still hasn't found homes for those three kittens that she just had to take in." Ellen was frowning. "We are not turning into a zoo."

"This is totally different!" Sam protested. "Bones needs us."

"Bones needs a lot more than we can give," Ellen said, not unkindly.

"I know," Sam said stubbornly. "But I'm not going to abandon him!"

"I'm not saying you should." Ellen ran a hand through the boy's hair, making him duck with pretend annoyance. "Now come help me clean up the restroom, then you can go stay with Bones."

"Alright." Sam jumped off the chair and went to help Ellen. She threw over her shoulder,

"And don't think I can't hear your stomach rumbling from here. You boys better finish those sandwiches."

Dean, pretending to be innocent, smiled and shrugged as though to say, _who me?_ Castiel thought his act needed some work.

"Ellen seems kind," Castiel said, poking at his own sandwich. It was slightly saggy from the microwave. Dean dug into his with the enthusiasm of the starving.

Dean looked at him with startling wide eyes. "She's completely terrifying." He swallowed messily. "She just gets you wrapped up in this homemaker illusion, like a web. Then it's: tststststs, Clarice..." He made a sound with his mouth that was disturbing. At Castiel's look of utter confusion, Dean threw his head back and laughed. 

Meg insisted on calling him Clarence, Balthazar wouldn't let go of that awful "Cassie", and here was Dean with this newest nickname. Castiel felt a small smile tug at his lips. It felt like the longer they spent time together, the more Dean became used to him. Dean was starting to think of him as one of his own, Castiel was sure of it. The thought settled warmly in the pit of his stomach.

"What?" Dean asked, when he noticed Castiel watching him quietly, crumbs falling out of his mouth.

"Nothing." Castiel replied, looking down with that same smile. Then he thought about the way he'd gotten caught in Dean's web back when they first played pool together, and how false all of his assumptions had been then. The smile slid of his face. Could he ever really know Dean? Truly?

He knew Dean cheated at pool and had frustratingly attractive eyes. He knew the way Dean behaved around him had to mean Dean cared at least a little. But without confirming it through the touch of his emphatic senses—. 

Castiel's heart rebelled at the same instant. Dean cared about people, and he didn't need special powers to know it. Everything that Dean did had a kindness underlying it, a need to fix things and to protect people. He had to stop worrying about what Dean felt, and concern himself with being worthy of Dean's affection, however much of it he could win. Making sure he acted like a normal person was the least he could do.

 

* * *

 

Jo had finished her homework by the time Dean had finished his and Castiel's sandwich (Castiel didn't mind), and came over to "hang out with the cool crowd" as Dean put it, which made her roll her eyes so hard she must have hurt herself.

"Do you want anything?" Jo asked Castiel directly, with a critical look at their empty crumb-filled plates. "Dean could make you another sandwich." Dean coughed, but didn't argue.

"I'm fine. Thank you." Castiel replied.

Jo looked at him seriously for a minute. "By the way, how do you feel about adopting a kitten?" 

Before Castiel could reply, Dean's back blocked the girl from his view. "Leave Cas out of your crusade."

"Just because you're allergic," Jo pouted.

"No cats," Dean warned her, raising his eyebrows significantly. His humour fled however when he looked over to his morose brother, sitting silent on the other end of the table. "You took Bones to the vet, right? Aren't they supposed to be able to fix things?"

"There's nothing they can do." Sam said shortly and went over to the dog. Bones lifted one ear when his favourite human approached, but that was about all the movement from him. Sitting down heavily at his side, Sam started scratching him on his neck.

"Bones drank a tiny bit of water, but he won't eat anything," Jo said softly, sorrowfully looking at the dog everyone knew was dying, "He hasn't slept at all. Sam was up with him all last night."

Dean asked, "If I got the money—?"

Jo shook her head. 

"They've been giving him drugs to keep him from feeling pain, but he's getting used to the dosage too quickly."

Castiel looked over to the animal. It wasn't a human feeling, but there was a recognizable scent of distress coming from the corner where Sam sat with his dying dog. He stood up, walking over to Sam and Bones.

"May I?" he bent forward and stretched his hand out, checking with Sam it was okay to proceed. 

"Sure." Sam shrugged his indifference without taking his eyes of Bones.

Castiel sank his fingers into the dog's platinum colored mane, near the back. The fur was soft to the touch. With physical contact, Castiel could identify more of the anxious aura surrounding the animal. Eyes sliding half-way shut, Castiel tried to focus on a happy memory. He pictured himself inside his own garden, tending to the weeds. He remembered the bee-hive he had there, remembered the way working in the sunlight tired him out but also centered him. Pictured the butterflies landing on the daisies by the fence, the birds pecking at the fedora on the old scarecrow. Felt the breath of the wind, the sound of leaves from the maple tree rustling. Finding that anchor, the peace of a single moment where worries disappeared and everything made sense, where his biggest problem was how to get a plant to sprout, he gathered it within himself and poured that feeling out through his touch. The dog snorted and whined a little. Turned to watch Castiel.

He was the most accepting patient by far, watching Castiel with all too wise eyes. After a few moments, his tail wagged side to side a few times quickly in succession. Castiel was no expert in dogs, but he knew that sign usually meant 'good'.

"He's perked up," Sam said, wonderingly. He looked over to where Castiel was stroking his dog and set his own arm nearby, slowly, unsure if his touch would break the spell. Castiel nodded at him, encouraging. Even though Sam didn't have his talent, Bones was his dog. The touch of love would only help him.

Castiel took that opportunity to crouch down. He could keep the distress at bay as long as he was touching the animal. It wasn't a cure, but like opiate, removing the stress lessened the pain. 

"I think he might drink something now."

After a second of staring at him, Sam jumped up and went to get the bowl of water. He set it before Bones who whined lowly, but lifted his head to lick at the water on the edges of the metal bowl. Castiel tried to send encouragement through the link. They all watched slowly as Bones drank.

"Buddy, you have magic touch or something?" Dean said lightly from the back. Castiel twisted around, concerned that he hadn't felt him approach. It wasn't just that he didn't sense Dean's emotions, he hadn't thought about the man since he had walked over. That was a first; Dean's presence normally felt like gravity pulling him in. Here though, there was something he could do besides continuously resisting the pull. Here he was finally useful.

Castiel shrugged his shoulder, leaving them to their guesses. He hoped his actions wouldn't be suspicious. On the other hand, who could possibly suspect that he was capable of altering another's emotions? Not even Gabriel knew the exact extent of his power. 

Thoughts of Gabriel led to thoughts of the promised cure. If Castiel gave up the gift-curse of empathy, he couldn't do this. Couldn't offer temporary comfort to a dying animal. The thought was painful, so he pushed it away. He rubbed Bones' back, keeping his focus on that special memory of peace.

Crouching the way he was strained his back so after a while of rubbing Bones' back, Castiel glanced over at the wall. "Mind if I...?" he said, already moving to sit down in front of Bones and move the water out of the way. Sam didn't protest, not that Castiel thought he would. The boy had a slight smile on his face, watching Bones as the dog licked his fingers. Castiel sat with his back against the wall, stretching out his feet. He pulled Bones' head over to his leg, letting the dog occupy his lap. This way his arm could go around the dog without extra effort from him. He could focus on just making the dog feel better for a while. Maybe Bones would fall asleep.

"Whatever you're doing, man, keep doing it," Sam said. He was watching the way Castiel was petting the dog. Castiel hadn't used any powers on him — wasn't sure he could — but the young boy's face was lighter than it had been all evening. 

Later, when Ellen made Jo go to bed and an exception was made for Sam to sit with his dog for another hour before he too would be marched off to bed (he had school in the morning), Sam and Castiel sat quietly by the wall. Their unanimous agreement to focus on getting Bones comfortable enough to sleep remained unspoken.

Dean was sitting at a table across the room, drinking a beer and looking their way. Castiel tried not to notice him because Dean's gaze broke his concentration. Every time he wondered what Dean was looking at, what he was seeing when his gaze passed over Castiel, he'd have to reach inside the memory again as the peaceful thoughts slipped away like mist.

Sam was asking him about what college was like, which classes he was taking and how it was different from high-school. Castiel tried to answer honestly, even though he doubted his experience was a typical one. He rarely attended his classes because sitting in the roomful of his classmates was too distracting. Students were either too much into the class material, passions running high during a debate that would break out, or they were apathetic to the lecture and daydreaming of their lives outside class. Regardless, Castiel often felt like voyeur, and his concentration surrounded by so many hormonal young adults was non-existent. He preferred to study the material by himself from a book.

Sam asked him what his major was. Castiel looked away. "Undeclared," he admitted, somewhat embarrassed since he was supposed to know what to do with his life by now. "But I think...I think I'd like to help people." He absently brushed a hand through Bones' fur. Couldn't he figure out a profession that would make good use of his special gift? Didn't he owe it to himself? The most likely ones — teacher, doctor — dealt with humans, and Castiel wasn't very good with that. But what did that leave?

He turned his head when he felt a sudden change in the mood of the boy beside him. Something was gravely bothering Sam, something that made his emotions curl up in embarrassed guilt and panic.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice pitched low so it wouldn't break, "I don't want to be a lawyer."

"What?" Dean turned to his younger brother. His mouth was slightly open in surprise. "But you—You always said—?"

"I don't." Sam shook his head. The fingers of his left hand were still buried in the thick mane of the dog. "I tried; I mean, I really did." His hand trembled, then shuddered and steadied himself. Castiel watched as he straightened his shoulders, as though steeling himself against a rebuke. "I thought if I were a lawyer then you...and Dad would be happy. We would have a lot of money. We wouldn't have to leave everything behind anymore. Now Dad's gone." His eyes where he stared up at his brother blazed with conviction. "I don't want to be a lawyer, Dean."

Dean was quiet for a moment, they both listened to Sam's shuddering breath. "Okay," was all he said.

"That's it?" Sam blinked quickly. "Just okay?"

"What do you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean tried to smile, but it was wobbly at best. His eyes cut briefly to Cas, as though he was wondering if he should continue with him there, but he must have decided Cas was trustworthy. Dean gave a shrug, "I'm the perpetual fuck-up in this family. Who am I to tell you who you should become." The downturn of the intonation made it less than a question.

"I hate it when you talk like that." Sam said frowning, but quickly he was smiling, his chest was shuddering like after holding himself together for so long the relief was so strong it overpowered him now. 

Castiel touched the fingers of his hand to Sam's shoulder, quietly. He wasn't sure if Sam would even feel them there, but he tried to instill some calm in the boy so he wouldn't suffer anymore and wouldn't worry his older brother. Sam turned his face back to the dog, his teenage embarrassment over his confession keeping him from seeing the expression on Dean's face.

Dean was looking at his brother with eyes so full of love it hurt to watch him. Castiel still couldn't look away. He felt like an intruder here, but Bones was still laying basically in his lap and he wouldn't move the dog. Besides, it almost looked like the brothers had forgotten about his presence, or at least they didn't seem to mind him listening to them talk. 

Dean said, "Sammy, I don't want you to have to do things you wouldn't want to do. That's why I'm working so hard. I want to make sure we have what we need."

"Dean..." Sam started, but his brother barreled right over him.

"The pub and Sonny's don't pay much, and the hours are crap, I know. But I might get a real job now. I met this old man...well, it's a long story. He offered me a job at his yard. He's got cars there. I like cars... Maybe..." Dean trailed off, looking away.

"You're great with cars!" Sam said, reading the doubt on his brother's face flawlessly. Castiel wished he understood Dean half as well as Sam did. He always felt like he was missing half of the conversation with Dean. He had to try harder.

"Yeah." Dean lifted his chin, the encouragement enough to put some light back into his eyes again. "If I have a steady job, full-time, I can rent a real apartment." He smiled. "Then you could come live with me."

The dimming of Sam's smile was so slight it was unnoticeable. "I'm fine here. Ellen takes good care of me." He looked up earnestly at Dean's face, "Honest."

"Well, she shouldn't have to," Dean said firmly. "I'm your older brother. I'm supposed to take care of you."

Castiel's eyes slid to Sam's hand, fisted now in the long fur of Bones, out of Dean's sight. Sam didn't say anything for a while. He wasn't any happier.

"Well," Dean said, when the silence threatened to turn awkward. "Cas, you must be tired sitting like that—"

"I'm okay, Dean."

"Really? Do you need a blanket or something?" Sam turned to Cas with interest, dislodging the hand on his shoulder without noticing. Castiel felt his chest ease a little, Sam's concern warming his heart. It was amazing how at ease he could feel in the presence of two people, and a sick dog. He didn't want to move from that spot. To answer Sam's question, Castiel shook his head.

"I'll get you a beer." Dean nodded to himself, "Wait here." He strode off to do as he promised.

"Where are we gonna go?" Sam muttered sarcastically, and shared a smile with Castiel behind Dean's back.

"What would you like to become?" Castiel asked him as they waited for Dean to come back, and watched the younger boy's eyes turn considering at the question. "Have you given it any thought, Sam?"

"I might like to become a physician." Sam's face was still for a moment, then brightened, "Maybe I can become a veterinarian!"

Castiel watched him with interest. He himself didn't know what he wanted; it was fascinating to watch Sam decide so quickly. Sam was thoughtful as he watched Bones rest.

"Do you know..." Sam put his face down so it was in Bones' fur, hugging the dog a little, "Nobody's ever asked me that before."

 

* * *

 

Bones fell asleep in the AM hours. Some time after that Ellen came to tell Sam to go to bed. He nodded groggily, waved goodbye to Castiel and his brother, and trotted off to his room upstairs. Ellen offered Dean and Castiel space to stay, but Dean shook his head so she left them to their own devices.

Castiel was tired, but strangely energized also. When he and Dean quietly left the Roadhouse stepping into the night, he couldn't help wishing he _could_ take Dean's hand, not for any sentimental reason but just for that sense of a connection to the man beside him.

Castiel breathed in the night air. The day had been tiring but he felt like he could run a mile. He had spent time with Dean. He had met Sam, who seemed like a young man with a beautiful soul. Of course, he should have known Dean's brother would be a reflection of him, yin to his yang, as thoughtful and calm as Dean was brave and honorable. Castiel smiled a private smile, counting himself lucky.

"What?" Dean asked in a rather soft for him voice. He'd been throwing glances at Castiel all night, unreadable and full of some kind of intent.

Castiel thought he could guess what they meant because he felt it too. 

"Do you want to come home with me?" 

Dean turned to stare at him, his eyes darkening with something.

"To sleep?" he asked.

"No."

 

* * *

 

Dean whistled when he took in the size of the property Castiel's house stood on. Even in the darkness it seemed formidable. "Nice place," he said. Castiel held back from explaining it was in the family for generations, he didn't want extraneous tangents to derail them from their intent. He removed his coat and motioned for Dean to give him his own jacket, storing them by the front door.

"The bed is upstairs," he said simply. 

"Lead on," Dean said, but when Castiel tried to head upstairs Dean pulled at him from behind, pressing up against his back. His arms went to circle around Castiel. Through the thin cotton of his shirt, Castiel could feel the press of the amulet between his shoulder blades. It felt reassuring. He put his hands against Dean's arms, coiled over his chest, rubbing at the light hair there.

"Dean..." he protested half heartedly, tilting his head to give more access when Dean mouthed at the side of his cheek, sliding his lips down towards Castiel's neck.

"The bed's upstairs, I know." Dean's smile was a murmur across the delicate skin of his collarbone. Castiel instinctively pressed back against him. It wasn't like he was without experience around other people, he'd touched himself and been touched, but this was different. Every cell of his body wanted this.

Dean found some sensitive spot and naturally decided to suck on it. Castiel's knees nearly buckled. He pulled at Dean's hand, grasping his fingers and turning to look at him. "Let's go upstairs." He had to kiss Dean's mouth now that he saw him, flushed and gorgeous, looking at Castiel like he wanted to sink down to his knees right there and then.

Somehow, still kissing and fumbling with their clothes, they made it upstairs into Castiel's bedroom and the king-sized bed. Castiel's shirt had been discarded on the way, and he pulled down his pants, while Dean next to him undressed equally quickly. As soon as they were free of the boxers, they looked toward each other, making sure each still wanted this. The answer was like electricity between them, snapping them closer together. Castiel gasped against Dean's mouth when their bodies touched.

"What do you want?" Dean asked. Then, breathlessly, "I'll do whatever you want."

The words shot straight to his cock. "Damn," he whispered, boggling at his own body; he was already half-hard and Dean had barely touched him. Dean was touching him now, the first slide of his fingers across Castiel's length making him shudder. Castiel pulled him towards himself, sinking back when his calves hit the bed-frame. They landed with an oof against the fresh bed-sheets, Dean holding his weight back with a hand, considerate of his weight on top of Castiel. He slid to the side, half laying across him, one leg thrown over Castiel's. His hand went to his cock again, the rolling motion around the head drawing a gasp from Castiel.

"Yeah, like that," he managed, before grinding his teeth together against the sensation. With Dean he didn't have to worry about shielding himself, he could be as open as he liked. They were completely alone, and Castiel let his senses stretch out, feeling every thud of his own heart, every panting breath Dean let out. He was too out of it to return the favour to Dean immediately, instead one of his hands went ineffectually into Dean's short hair, as he tried kissing him through the arousal. Soon, he had to stop, groaning against Dean's mouth. He shut his eyes for a moment, pushing into Dean's hand. Dean's motion slowed, softened. He kissed Castiel, something exploratory in the movement of his tongue. Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean looking down at him with a slight smirk. 

"You good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Castiel kissed him, not ever having enough of that mouth, "In the drawer," motioning towards the other side of the bed.

Dean said, "Awesome," stretching. The amulet which he still had on dangled right above Castiel's face, nearly hitting him in the eye. Dean twisted a little, standing on his knees in front of Castiel, his cock standing proudly to attention. Castiel whined a little, stretching his hands out, trying to touch and having Dean just out of reach. "Don't you just want to get inside _this_ ," Dean motioned at himself, reaching behind him with lube.

"I can't wait to get inside that," Castiel panted, while Dean gently rolled the condom on Castiel's cock and applied the lube.

Dean threw his leg across him, positioning himself. "Fuck yeah," he groaned, sinking back. The tight sensation was almost too-much, and yet just right. Amazed that he hadn't come just from having Dean wrapped around him, he tried to get his head around the sensation of Dean's thighs pressed up against Castiel's sides and Dean's hands holding himself up against Castiel's chest, brushing his nipples lightly. It seemed impossible to feel so much, the gentle friction against his cock and the solid heat full of so much sparkling sensation against every nerve. Finally he felt Dean shuddering from exertion above him and put his hands on Dean's shoulders, helping him stay in a comfortable position. He got a quick passionate kiss for his concern, breathed in the musky scent of Dean's sweat. Dean went back to rocking and panting above him. 

"Oh God," he was saying, breathless, _yeah_ , _yeah_.

In the soft light of the bedroom, his well-defined chest glistened with sweat. Knowing he was close himself, his balls tightening, Castiel tried to help Dean towards orgasm with light brushes over his reddening cock, feeling the pre-cum against his fingers, but Dean whined against the sensation. "Too much," he moved to kiss Cas, pushing his hand off, face open with pleasure. Castiel grasped the bed-sheets, so close to the edge, and so happy to fly over it with Dean. Dean sank back fully and rocked forward.

The amulet smacked hard against his upper lip and Dean winced in pain. "Damn, let me—"

Dean grabbed it with a hand and pulled it over his head, yanking the amulet off.


	5. Chapter 5

  


Castiel surfaced slowly. There was a voice above him and it was saying things that were slowly morphing into clear words, "...Cas...please...tell me you're okay man..."

Taking inventory of his own body, the pleasant ache in it, Castiel realized he'd come. He hadn't felt it. Everything from the moment Dean had taken off the amulet had been swept away with the wave of feeling. He felt like he'd died. 

Maybe, Castiel thought distantly as he floated above his own body, watching Dean fret and unable to react, it was the lack of exposure upfront that was so damaging. With their bodies connected in the most intimate way, he had felt everything that Dean was feeling in that moment all at once: the pain, passion, happiness, even something like love. Yes, he examined the flitting memory, for a moment, as he was on the edge of his own orgasm, Dean had loved him. It had felt...Castiel could not find the words to describe it.

But Dean was still next to him, still frantic with worry. Now that the most overwhelming wave of feeling had subsided, Castiel could only feel his panic and remorse, a bitter taste that stung his eyes. "Are you there? I'm gonna call 911..."

"Dean..." Castiel managed slowly; a whisper.

"Yes?! Cas, what do you need?" Dean's face was hovering right next to his own, as though he was trying to see inside Castiel through his eyes. His hands were on both sides of Castiel's face, holding his face gently.

"Please...put it on," Castiel begged him. He was starting to lose himself again. The panic in Dean's heart wasn't lessening now that Castiel was awake and communicating. Dean was going through zig-zags of emotions, his guilt and fear making for a heady mix. He didn't want to accidentally hurt Dean. Castiel knew he couldn't always control the way he projected his own emotions. He felt too weak to pull himself together with his usual method.

"What?" Dean was confused. "Do you need a doctor? Are you epileptic?"

"Put...the amulet... back on," Castiel managed to squeeze the words out, shutting his eyes in vain hope that not being able to see Dean would hide his feelings from him. Of course, it wasn't to be. He tried to move his head away from Dean's hands but it was hard to move, his body felt like someone had punched all the air out, he was suffocating. He didn't know where he ended and where Dean began. It was terrifying. "Please put it on," Castiel half sobbed, "please..."

Dean moved away, the blessed lack of physical contact coming like a gulp of fresh air for a drowning man. He must have understood, because in a minute his feelings were abruptly cut of. Gone.

Castiel breathed in and coughed, choking on his own saliva, gulping in air like freedom for a caged bird that was suddenly out of its prison. He turned over to the side and wrapped his hands around himself trying not to shake.

"What is it?" Dean was saying but he didn't touch Castiel again. He must have understood that something about himself, about Dean being physically near, had set Castiel off. Of course, Castiel couldn't explain anything to calm him. He was too busy trying to keep his insides in, feeling a headache so powerful he was almost nauseated. The sheets under his body were damp from sweat.

"Cas?" 

He didn't need any emotional powers to feel the pain in Dean's voice. He could have heard it from across the room.

"I'm okay," he managed for Dean's benefit. That same weak whisper.

"Do you need some water?" Dean was gone for a moment to the bathroom and back, "Here." He was also offering Castiel a towel. After his look of incomprehension, Dean gently brushed the tip of it over Castiel's cheek. Castiel realized he was crying.

Dean startled when Castiel put his own hand over Dean's, holding it to his cheek, with the towel an inconsequential barrier. He tried to move away, wanting to give Castiel some space, but Castiel wouldn't have it.

"Is this okay?" Dean said eventually, settling on the side of the bed, still not touching Castiel at any point besides the tips of his fingers. He was dressed only in his boxers. "Are you feeling better?"

Castiel nodded.

"What was that?" Dean said, the fear he tried so hard to hide oh so obvious in his eyes when Castiel lifted his gaze to them. "You went completely rigid and...you totally lost it, man. I thought...weren't we having fun?" He sounded utterly bereft. Castiel could only imagine how frightening it had been. The memories of their passionate embrace felt like a lifetime ago.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling his voice come out rougher than before. It had been a complete overreaction on his part. He had lost control.

"Hey, hey," Dean gentled him when Castiel turned his face into Dean's side, sliding his head into Dean's lap.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," he gasped out again, burying his face in Dean's stomach.

"It's okay," and the soft quality of Dean's voice made him shudder. "Whatever that was, we'll figure it out, okay. We'll fix it. Just rest."

Castiel closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

He knew Dean wouldn't tell another soul.

That didn't mean he wanted to explain how he had spied on Dean's inner most feelings, breaking the trust between them in the moment of passion. For Dean, it had been like a revelation, being with Castiel opening doors inside himself he'd long since slammed shut. His emotions had been full of sweetness and fervor. Of course, all of it was understandable, at the heights of an orgasm. Castiel even understood his concern after he had awoken; any decent person would be sorry to cause visible distress to their lover. In his own guilty head, Castiel tried to chase away the thoughts of explaining to Dean why he had nothing to feel sorry about. The fault was Castiel's alone, his gift (or curse as it seemed at the moment), was what was making Dean worry and look at him helplessly from the side of the bed.

They had dressed. Castiel sat with his knees drawn up against the headboard, Dean on the side of the bed, twisted to face him. More than anything in the world, Castiel wanted to kiss Dean again, take the amulet off and feel those strong emotions, all for him, against his skin. He wouldn't pass out this time, he'd be ready to take anything. He'd bask in Dean's affection, swim in it.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean said. From his earlier erratic, jittering concern he now settled into a slow almost silence. These were the first words he'd said to Castiel in some time. A heavy frown marred his face all the while, deepening the longer the silence between them stretched.

Castiel shook his head.

"Whatever it is...just tell me you're going to be okay, Cas."

Castiel nodded. He tried to reassure Dean, "We can try again...later..."

Dean turned away, the rejection of the idea so obvious Castiel flinched. "I didn't want to push you into doing anything you weren't ready for."

"I was— I wanted it Dean." Castiel rushed forward, sliding to his knees on the bed, putting his hand on Dean's chin and tilting it towards him. "I wanted you."

"That's reassuring to hear," Dean said with a slight quirk to his mouth. He sighed, taking hold of Castiel's hand in his. The touch of their hands meant nothing with the amulet on. Castiel fought off a flinch, no, it meant everything that Dean wanted to touch him. "So we're okay?" he had a strange look in his eyes, almost like he expected Castiel to say no and throw him out.

Instead, Castiel bent forward, telegraphing all his movements and letting Dean prepare himself before he kissed him. "We're okay," he confirmed against his mouth. He was almost back to normal, certain that he wouldn't accidentally project his emotions on Dean.

Dean tentatively deepened the kiss, a hand rising to Castiel's face before he controlled himself and forced it to drop back into his lap. "You should sleep," he said, "you look kinda beat, man."

"Do you want to stay here?" Castiel motioned on the disordered but very large bed. They could both easily sleep here.

"Nah." Dean shook his head. "It's almost morning and I've got to open at Sonny's."

"Do you still have the shift at Benny's tonight?" Castiel wondered.

"Yeah, but I'll catch a nap in between." Dean quirked another smile, deflecting the concern Castiel was sure was written all over him. Castiel might have protested, but they both startled when they heard a sound from downstairs.

"Unless you have a butler, that's probably your brother."

"Gabriel?" Castiel turned his head to listen to the front door closing and the light steps outside. Gabriel did have a key, but why would he be here?

"I sort of panicked," Dean explained, flushing. "When you were just lying there, I grabbed your phone and called your brother."

"You told him _everything_?" Castiel groaned, running his hands backwards through his own sweaty hair.

"Well, I didn't tell him _everything_ ," Dean said. "I just asked if I should call an ambulance, but he said he'd come check on you."

"Damn," Castiel clenched his fists in his hair.

"If you don't want to see him..." Dean hedged, "I'll make him leave."

"He can stay," Castiel answered. Actually, he now had many questions for Gabriel, including who had helped him learn to dampen the effect of his emotions on an empath. "But I don't want to see him. I just want to sleep."

Dean nodded, and after a quick hesitation, moved forward and pressed his lips to Castiel's forehead. "See you later?" he ventured.

"Of course, Dean."

Castiel lay down on the bed, still clothed and too lethargic to move when Dean slipped out. He shut his eyes against the memory of the night, some parts of it to precious to examine, others too painful, and tried to sleep.

"—the ever-loving fuck did you do to my baby brother?" came the angry exclamation from downstairs, but whatever Dean told Gabriel must have satisfied him because he left Castiel alone.

 

* * *

 

Castiel woke to his hair being ruffled, and knew instinctively it wasn't Dean. Nothing about Dean touching him was casual. He opened his eyes listening to the sounds of the house, hearing shuffling steps behind him.

"Rise and shine, kiddo."

It was Gabriel, and it was morning.

Castiel stayed silent for a few precious moments, trying to gather his armor around himself. It had felt so different being around Dean that he felt raw and exposed. He never wanted Gabriel to see him like this.

"What do you want?" he mumbled into the covers on his bed.

"My reasons for checking up on my baby brother are entirely pure," Gabriel threw back at him from somewhere in the back of the room. He threw the curtains open, letting more light in and making Castiel wince. It was mid-afternoon judging from the position of the sun. Gabriel was munching on something, probably candy, but his tone was edged with something difficult to describe.

Castiel wanted to tell him they weren't family, that Gabriel had abandoned the right to call him that when he'd abandoned him years ago. But it was stupid to pretend: whatever else they were, they were blood. And Gabriel was right, they were brothers, whatever that word meant. The thought made him want to curl up and go back to sleep. Instead he forced himself to sit up, lowering his feet to the floor. His head ached mildly and he felt slightly nauseated.

"So Dean-o did everyone a solid, bringing you back here last night." Gabriel continued, still that same hard edge changing his tone from something entirely jovial, "Your classes are in...oh, two more hours so you have time for a shower. You stink."

Castiel stared at him, wondering if Gabriel had watched over him while he slept. The ornate quilt lying on the floor by the bed also indicated his older brother had attempted to cover him up.

"What do you want from me," Castiel muttered.

"What was that?" Gabriel called.

"Nothing," he bit out, "Where is my school bag?"

"Wherever you left it, boy-o." Gabriel looked unconcerned. "I'm not your maid — you make a mess you deal with it." He was angry with Castiel, probably about Castiel being careless with his powers. He had no right to play at concern.

Refusing to show his irritation at the projected indifference, sensing the irritated concern underneath, Castiel got up, swaying, and looked about. He remembered throwing his bag somewhere by the bedroom door when he headed out the night before, and luckily that's where it was, still lying open in disarray. He had a quiz that he had to show up for in person, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered.

His brother was there behind him when he turned, putting a hand on his chin.

"How are you doing?" he said, too seriously for him.

Castiel, wanting nothing to do with him, tried to push him away, which just made Gabriel grab onto his chin more forcefully. Castiel felt all the myriad of ways in which Gabriel was uncomfortable with their touching. It was difficult to tell when they were simply in the same room, but with his hand on Castiel's skin, no training or self-control could keep the emotions from Castiel. He yanked his face away from Gabriel's touch.

" _Ohoho_ , you'll be like _that_ now? Not quite clinging to me like a limpet the way you did to Dean, hmm?"

"Shut up," Castiel said, trying to get away.

"Get over yourself," Gabriel snapped, his feeling swinging towards hurt, although nothing showed on his face. "The sooner I know you can be left on your own the sooner I can have breakfast."

"Never stopped you before," Castiel said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Castiel turned. "You've left me on my own before," he said, and suddenly couldn't stop staring at his older brother as words simply poured out of his mouth. The unfairness of Gabriel being here stung his eyes. "How did you know I could be left on my own then? I would have _begged_ you to stay! And now that I'm...I'm _fine_! Now you come back?" He threw his school bag on the bed, furious with himself for getting so emotional, and furious with Gabriel for just standing there, feeling awful not a few feet away.

Gabriel looked wide-eyed. "Kiddo, I—"

"I don't care." Castiel said, lifting his chin, looking at the wall. "Whatever you say."

"When I left, I was messed up, okay?" Gabriel said, an edge to his voice. "Took me five years to even get clean. Took a lot longer to want to face up to you again."

"I know," Castiel said, turning to him. "I know how hard it is for you, just being near me. Do you think I don't feel it? Do you think I enjoy suffocating in you, loathing that every moment I know what you feel?"

"I can't control that!" Gabriel said, eyes flashing even as his irritation intensified. "I never could. That's why I had to leave, Cas. I couldn't be around you and have everything I felt thrown back in my face. Couldn't do it."

"That's why you're so desperate to get Dean's amulet?!"

They both stopped. Castiel took a short breath. He hadn't meant to reveal Dean's name.

"Oh," Gabriel said, eyes sparkling wildly.

Furious with himself, for an entirely different reason now, Castiel swirled around, throwing his books haphazardly inside, before pulling his bag onto his shoulder.

"Dean has the amulet?" Gabriel called out. His emotions had swung to excitement and elation, anger forgotten, and Castiel knew what it meant. Gabriel had come back for the amulet and he could be very resourceful. "Everything makes sense now."

He turned to look at his brother. 

"If you try to touch Dean, I'll stop you," he said. Gabriel gave him a coolly evaluating look, still excited underneath it all. He didn't take Castiel's warning seriously. Castiel had to make him understand. "Go talk to Zachariah if you want to know what happens to people who mess with me." Calling his empathy to his grasp, feeling it surge into him ready to play, Castiel flicked a dangerous feeling Gabriel's way, making him gasp.

He left his brother gaping flabbergasted in his wake as he strode out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

He called Dean during his shift at Benny's, but Dean had sounded tired on the phone. Castiel hoped it was just pure exhaustion and not that he was avoiding Castiel. That was the height of hypocrisy of course, since Castiel himself slunk home instead of stopping by Benny's. He wasn't sure how to handle the situation with Dean. He couldn't let one accident control their fates, but there was a pattern to his most important relationships that he couldn't ignore either.

Would he always lose the people closest to him to his cursed powers?

When he saw Gabriel inside their house, watching something on TV in the living room, he literally stopped in the doorway.

"What do you want?" Castiel knew his tone was tired and drawn, because he was flashing to the way that he had woken up that morning, with Gabriel's hand ruffling his hair and his chest hurt. He hadn't woken up that way for over a decade and all the emotions it stirred up inside him were unwelcome. He still remembered the way Gabriel suddenly came home not too long ago, announcing they were a family again. None of it felt real.

Gabriel stood up and switched the TV off.

"Tell me something Cas," Gabriel was serious, "And don't...don't lie."

"What?" Castiel asked quietly, shutting the door behind him.

"Am I a fucking asshole?" Gabriel's voice was harsh, "Because all this time I'd kind of assumed that what you said about Zach was some childhood rebellion. But I'm starting to think that was more me with my head up my ass."

After Castiel was quiet, Gabriel prompted, "Cas? Tell me the truth."

"The truth is I don't care if you believe me anymore," Castiel said. "I know what happened."

"So...?" Gabriel's face was slowly turning more and more pale. It was like the realization was settling in and draining all blood from his face. Castiel didn't need empathy to smell his fear, it poured off him in waves. He had been wrong, and now he knew it. An unpleasant sensation for someone as proud as Gabriel.

Castiel lifted his chin. "Zachariah tried to rape me. I'm not going to change my story so you can feel better about yourself."

"Holy fuck," Gabriel said. The fear turned to pain and guilt. He put his hands to his forehead, squeezing his head tight. "Holy, fucking—"

"Nothing about it was holy," Castiel said quietly. 

"I'm a fucking douche-bag, oh my God," Gabriel was moaning.

"Yeah, make this all about you."

Gabriel's head flew up. "What? No, I—" He took in Castiel's expression, "I'm _sorry_ , okay. I'm—"

"Yeah. Okay." Castiel told him, wishing he hadn't felt how hard Gabriel had meant it. It was difficult to stay cold. He felt his anger was justified. Eleven years of hopeless thoughts about his brother, blaming himself for making Gabriel leave, and all of it was supposed to be erased with one apology?

"Cas, you gotta believe me. I'm really sorry."

"I _have to_ believe you?" Castiel could finally smile. It was a caustic smile.

Gabriel's face was white as a sheet. "I should have trusted you."

Castiel shrugged. "You know when you ran away from home, that was the worst day of my life?"

Gabriel was silent.

"I thought I didn't have anyone to protect me from Zachariah. It was true. But I hadn't counted on myself. I could make him believe he felt what I was feeling. I took all my hatred, all my rage and pain and guilt, all the hurt from missing you, and I rammed it down his throat. Made him feel about himself what I felt. I hope it stuck. I hope he never looks into the mirror without flinching. He still looks queasy when we cross paths, you know."

Gabriel was silent. 

"Maybe if I'd done it from the start, none of it would have happened," Castiel said. "But you know how hard it is to believe in yourself at that age."

"I'm sorry."

"I needed my family. You weren't there."

"I'm...I'm here now." The bizarre mix of tentative hope and bravado stung. Castiel still felt a sense of endearment towards his older brother, even after everything, that hadn't gone away. It hurt to still want them to be family.

Castiel looked at him steadily, thinking. He needed Gabriel, for more than just himself. History was repeating itself. He wanted to be with Dean and his powers were pulling them apart too. 

Maybe Gabriel could read him right back, because at his pause he said, "Something's different...What's wrong?"

"I need help," Castiel said, letting himself sound only a touch as desperate as he felt, and getting the unwilling lurch of sympathy from Gabriel. His brother stood up straighter, looking at him seriously. 

"What happened, kiddo?"

"That person who helped you," Castiel implored his brother, "Could they help me too?" 

Gabriel stared, evaluating. Eventually, he sighed, "Either way, I think you should meet her."

Then he said the words that made Castiel's heart skip a beat, "Anna is an empath, like you."

 

* * *

 

"She is in a mental hospital?" Castiel asked, pressing himself deeper into the car seat. His desire to see this kindred soul that Gabriel espoused would be their guiding light had been lessening with each passing mile. Looking at the sign for "Connor Beverly Behavioral Medicine Center", he started to wonder if Gabriel hadn't brought him here under false pretenses. Maybe he thought to leave Castiel here as a patient? The thought was utterly terrifying.

"She's a nurse here," Gabriel said, missing the emotional tension completely or pretending to. "C'mon, buckaroo, no time like right now."

Castiel reluctantly followed him into the building. Since the unfortunate accident with Dean, his own emotions had been zigzagging all over the place. While Gabriel tried to get a hold of Anna Milton at the reception, Castiel did his best to shore up his inner defenses against the painful realities of the hospital. Nobody was here to celebrate; every emotion that reached him was negative: fright or depression, even the boredom or anxiety from the occasional staff passing by added to the pool of unhappiness. The smell of antiseptic only added to the impression. Gabriel practically dragged him along the hallway into another room.

"Hello," the red-headed woman there said softly, "...Castiel, right?"

The dark tendrils of her hair framed a pretty, pale face. She had hazel eyes, similar to Gabriel, that belied her somewhat fragile appearance with an inner strength that shone through. She had on a white doctor's coat.

"Hey there, Anna." Gabriel smiled glibly and waved.

"You don't call, you don't write..." She teased like an old friend.

"Brought my little brother with me this time to make up for it."

"I see that." Again her attention turned to Castiel. He was wondering if she would evaluate him now. If the next words out of her mouth would be, _yes, he would fit right in around here_. He couldn't really feel what she was feeling, it was like touching a cool mirror.

"Oh," she said, her eyes widening a little. "You're looking a little ragged around the edges."

"What?" Castiel finally managed. "I uh...hello." He tried to recover, flushing, "Gabriel said you know about me." Beside him, Gabriel put a hand to his forehead, despairing at his brother's lameness.

"Your big brother may have mentioned you a few billion times." Anna smiled. "But everything I need to know I can feel right now. I am an empath. Just like you, Castiel."

"And you choose to work in the hospital?" It popped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Doesn't it..."

"Hurt?" Her smile had a slight edge to it, at odds with the soft tone. She had a very kind face. "It does. But I like to think I can help people here more." She studied him. "Let me try to help you, Castiel."

"How?" he said, helplessly. He didn't actually think anything could help _him_. All his life he'd been like this, and while pretending to be normal worked for a while, it only took something like what happened with Dean to remind him he would never be normal.

"Oh dear," Anna said unexpectedly. Her head tilted to the side, like she was listening to someone speak. Castiel was suddenly aware that he was probably leaking his feelings all over the place, with another empath in the room. He'd never had to guard his emotions so zealously, but he tried to yank them inside himself now, as much to protect her as himself. It hurt, like pushing on a purpling bruise, but it was easier than facing her carelessly wide-open. 

"Don't do that," Anna said, wincing. "Come here," she motioned with a hand towards herself.

Giving a glance to Gabriel at his side who watched the proceedings with an unusual quiet, and reading only concern for him, Castiel turned to Anna again and took a step closer. Then another, as she beckoned him. She closed the final distance herself standing in front of him with barely inches separating them. Her eyes were latched on to his. One of her hands caught his and she swiped a thumb across his palm. Castiel felt like he was standing next to a waterfall in the middle of a desert, the cool water cascading with droplets splashing his body, making the heat pushing down on him bearable. The pressure he hadn't even been aware of, not fully. "It's okay," Anna said, "I don't want anything from you. I just want to make you feel better."

Could she do it? Could she fix him? Castiel wondered. He suddenly wanted, more then anything, for someone to take all the pressure away. When she opened her arms, inviting him in, he followed through without a thought. Anna's embrace felt like he was standing inside a cloud of mist, calm and relaxing. She was like a bubble around his feelings; the outside world became distant and dull. He shuddered, drawing in an uneasy breath. "It's okay," she was whispering into his shoulder, "It's all gonna be okay." 

"I don't know what to do," he said into her shoulder, suddenly terrified of letting go and letting the world seep back in. "Would you tell me?"

"I can't do that," Anna said, then at his sudden emotional lurch, she hugged him tighter. "But I can give you the tools to figure it out for yourself."

 

* * *

 

Embarrassment tried to get its hooks into Castiel following the episode with Anna, but even though he now had Gabriel throwing him too sympathetic glances, he couldn't bring himself to feel bad. He was too tired. 

After holding him for a while and getting him to calm down, Anna had grabbed both his hands in hers — no doubt aware that touch heightened the emotional connection — and said, staring into his eyes. "You'll be okay for a few more hours. Go walk in the park behind the hospital, it will help you relax. After I finish my shift at six we'll pick it up from there."

"Can you really teach me to control myself?"

Anna smiled, a little sadly. "I can help you learn about yourself; your gifts."

"I...hurt someone," Castiel admitted, wishing he hadn't felt that emotional kick as Gabriel glanced up in surprise. "Someone who trusted me. I caused him pain."

"With your powers?" Anna's voice was serious. 

"No. Not this time." He had made Dean think that it was something inside him that had frightened Castiel. He didn't know that he had the courage to face him again. "It's complicated." The situation with Zachariah was completely different. He didn't regret that. He lifted his chin, and after a short look at his resolute face, Anna sighed. 

"Well, we'll talk about it later. Gabriel, will you help him?"

"Huh?" Gabriel looked baffled. "I think my brother's old enough that he can take a walk in a garden by himself."

Anna touched a hand to Gabriel's shoulder, making him stiffen as he watched her, wary. "He can do everything by himself," she said. "But why should he have to?"

With that, she patted him on the shoulder and after a glance and another soft smile at Castiel, left the room.

Gabriel shook his head, snorting. "Psychics."

 

* * *

 

Anna had given him homework that Castiel wasn't about to ignore. His brother thought that scented candles, relaxing baths, walks in the park, and other such "nonsense" were stupid, but Castiel was willing to try anything. According to Anna, meditation helped her center herself each day. He would have to find his own key. Castiel had never tried meditating before, other than those brief grasps at the memories of peace in the garden. He was probably terrible at it, but then he remembered how good it had felt to help Sam's dog, and thought it would be worth a little teasing from his brother to try figuring himself out.

That, however, would have to wait. Balthazar had sent him detailed description of his own evening, with unnecessary pictures. Meg's texts were imploding with outrage about how "booooring!" her latest conquest turned out to be ("—and he told me to call him dick." "wtf??? his is the kingdom of missionary!"). They didn't need any response from him, and he had his own messed up love-life to attend to.

Dean worked so many hours of the day that it was difficult to figure out when he would be comfortable to meet. Still, when he called, Dean sounded enthusiastic. Castiel suggested meeting by the Roadhouse, since it was more Dean's turf and he wanted to keep him comfortable for this discussion. It was important to keep this fair to Dean.

"Ellen took Jo to her drawing classes, and Sam's not back from school yet," Dean said, showing him inside the empty house. He was still wearing the clothes from Sonny's, but said he was cutting down on working there ("The thing with Bobby seems to be working out..." he'd shrugged).

Castiel sat down at the table when invited and waited while Dean fiddled with the coffee machine. When Dean set a steaming cup in front of him, he wrapped his hands around it, thinking how to start. Everything was in knots, and he didn't know how to untangle them.

Dean crossed his arms, not sitting down but rather leaning back in front of the counter.

Castiel looked down at his coffee. 

"Well, you promised you'd explain," Dean said.

"I...said no such thing," Castiel corrected crossly after a moment.

"It was implied. You had time to think things through, let's hear it."

Castiel got back up to his feet before he knew what he was doing, the drink on the table untouched. He paced away from Dean, sticking his hands in his pockets, he didn't want to look at him because it became harder to think rationally. Why had he come here? He should have waited for Dean to come to him, and if he never called, Castiel would have his answer. Instead, he was subjecting himself to this...this...

"Cas?" Dean called, "Talk to me, man."

"Your amulet," he turned towards Dean, eyes searching out the object on Dean's chest, "It's special."

Dean's gaze cut down to look at his pendant. "Yeah," his lips quirked. "My mom gave it to Sammy to give as a gift, for my birthday. He was 'bout three. I've had it since." He frowned, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's powerful...when you took it off, it changed how I could see you."

Dean's face quirked up. "What do you mean see me?" He licked his lower lip. "Cas we were both naked; and you had your dick up my ass. You're gonna have to be more specific."

Castiel sighed, and tried again, switching direction. "Do you know what empathy is?"

"Yeah, that girly touchy-feely stuff Sammy's always on about."

"It's more than that. It's an ability to feel what the other person is feeling, their exact emotions even if they might not be aware of them on a conscious level."

"Like a lie-detector?"

Castiel paced in front of him, "Empathy could be used like that."

"Wow, that would be terrifying," Dean said.

Castiel stopped his pacing and stared at him.

"Why would it scare you?"

Dean coughed, "Well, not me personally." He blustered on, "I just mean...it would be pretty hard to be near someone who could tell _everything_ that you were—" Dean's eyes grew wide. "Wait a second, Cas. What are you saying here?"

"I'm an empath, Dean." He saw Dean stand up a little straighter. "I'm sorry. It's not something I can control."

"I don't believe you," Dean said, but he was clutching his hands around his chest like he could protect himself that way. "If you were really an empath, you'd know that."

"I can see that you don't believe me with my own eyes," Castiel said. "But I can't sense anything from you because you are wearing the amulet."

"This?" One of Dean's hands reached up to clutch the little idol. He looked back up at Cas. 

"Yes, with that you are completely empty to me."

"Empty..." Dean swallowed. "So during our disastrous sex...?"

Castiel flushed at the classification, it had been quite spectacular until he'd screwed everything up. But he couldn't argue with Dean's memory of it. "When you took it off, everything just flooded right into me and ...overloaded my senses I guess you could say. I don't remember very much, you can feel safe about that."

"Does that...Wouldn't that always happen with people around the room?" Dean's gaze sharpened, examining his story. "I don't see you so much as flinch with Sam and the others."

"I can tell what they are feeling, but it's more gradual than it was with you." Castiel closed his eyes against the memory. "Things were super charged at that exact moment. We were both..."

"Yeah, passion ran high, I get that," Dean said. "Still... If I took this off right now..." He tugged on the leather cord.

"Please don't," Castiel said quickly. "I wanted...I came here to explain that the amulet makes us...equal I suppose." He stumbled, finding it difficult to put into words what he wanted from Dean, which was nothing and everything. "As long as you have it on, as long as I'm with you Dean, I can be myself."

Dean stayed silent, but he let the pendant flop back down to his chest.

"I've gone as far as I could go without you. Empathy isn't all how you think. I'm not a passive receptacle, or a power sink. I have my own feelings...doubts, desires. I can choose my own actions around you, without worrying that you are influencing how I feel."

"Dean." He stepped closer to the man. "I don't know what you're feeling, but... you could tell me, if you wanted to. I _know_ that I want to be with you."

Dean scratched his forehead with a thumb. "This is a lot, Cas."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I feel like I'm the one who should be sorry. I guess I really fried your circuit."

Castiel tilted his head, voicing tentative, "...You're okay with this?"

"Okay and me are in different universes right now," Dean sighed. For a second, something frazzled was in his tone but it was quickly masked. "On the other hand I can't ignore the cool factor. Mind-meld, dude."

"What?"

Dean stared at him in horror for a second, then said, "Later." He rubbed his hands against his jeans, muttering, "Okay, alright," Castiel watched with trepidation as Dean stretched an arm out and touched his hand. "You're not...um..."

"It's just skin on skin," Castiel reassured him. 

"Okay," Dean said, "That's great, because I've been going crazy since that night, Cas." He stepped closer, lust darkening his eyes. Castiel felt a thrill shoot up his spine.

"Do you want to try again?" He said, trying not to seem over-eager, "Tonight?"

"Are you kidding," Dean laughed. The relief of him standing close, seeing him, if not relaxed then at least prepared to try, made Castiel light-headed. Dean swayed forward until his crotch was lightly touching Castiel's front, even though his chest was still tilting back. "Do you want to wait? Because we have a few minutes until Sam comes back..." He winked.

"Then you'd best stop talking," Castiel made a motion with his hips that had Dean groaning and leaning into him, hands grasping Castiel's shoulders. Castiel encircled his waist, feeling the spike of arousal start so quickly in the arms of this man.

"Dean? So get this—!" Sam barged into the house, throwing his school bag on the counter. Dean's grip on Castiel's shoulders became painful and he slowly moved himself away. Castiel bit his lip, trying to subtly adjust his posture.

"Oh! Cas?" Sam had seen them. His face ran through curious expressions of pleased surprise, then a realization, and then he turned his face away. " _Dean_." His exasperation was that of someone long-suffering.

"What!" Dean said defensively. "Wait till you try it."

Sam scrunched up his nose, but now that there were a couple of feet between them he was willing to look again. "Actually, it's good that you're here Cas." Sam said, nervous about something but hiding it well. "I wanted to talk to you, too."

"About what?" Castiel turned to him, willing to be helpful, but uncertain. Sam stalled for a bit, taking his jacket off, setting it carefully on the nearby hanger, studying him.

"I saw the way you were with Bones," Sam said. He looked at Castiel's expression deeply, as though trying to read him. Suddenly, his emotions were all excitement. "Are you a witch, Cas?"

"Excuse me. What?" Dean said, while Castiel simply stared at Sam.

"I am not a witch."

Sam looked disbelieving.

Dean cried, "Yeah, because witches aren't real!" 

"Actually, witches _are_ real." Castiel supplied quietly, seeing no reason for Gabriel to lie about that, especially since he'd been truthful about Anna. As an afterthought: "So are, apparently, wood-spirits."

"What?" Both Sam and Dean turned to look at him now. If he hadn't known they were brothers by then, he would have had doubt eliminated at that moment — their expressions were identical.

"Wood-spirits—" he started to explain, but was interrupted.

"Witches are real?" Dean was upset in a way he hadn't been when Cas had confessed to having special powers. Castiel tilted his head, trying to identify the source of his distress. His eyes fell on Sam. Of course.

"Yes, Dean," Sam was saying, like an exasperated parent explaining to a five-year-old, "Witches are real. Magic is real."


	7. Chapter 7

"Magic," Dean said dry as sandpaper. A tone of utter disbelief belied the excited look on Sam's face.

"Yes, Dean. Magic." He was practically vibrating with excitement. Castiel watched him silently curious. Could magic really exist? He hadn't seen it with his own eyes and yet Gabriel had spoken of it, and now Sam too. And Dean's amulet was undoubtedly powerful like nothing Castiel had ever encountered before.

"Magic," Dean said again, still stuck on that. "Magic, Sam? _Really_?" 

"Mom was a witch," Sam said, grinning wide, like this was a good thing. From the way Dean's eyes bugged out, Castiel didn't think his brother agreed.

"She _what_?"

"A witch. And a pretty powerful one, too." Sam slid a piece of paper across, "Look, it's all here."

"What's this?" Dean said roughly, making no move to take the yellowed piece of paper. Sam rolled his eyes and took it off the table, opening it up. It was a letter.

"I got this before my thirteenth birthday," he explained, holding the old paper gently, "It's addressed to me. Mom," he swallowed,"...sent it before her death, in case something like this happened and we never knew our own history. She had it mailed to our old address in Lawrence, and it took a while for the new owners to forward it to me here."

"How do you even know it was Mom's?" Dean said, looking harried and somehow pained. 

"Look," Sam said, showing it to him, "You'd know her hand too. And it said things that only she would know. This is just page one, by the way, I've got more." 

"What..." it looked like Dean was about to ask for the content of her letter, but then remembered Sam's original pronouncement. He squared his jaw.

"So you decided Mom was a witch based on what, a time-capsule in a bottle?"

"It explained everything, Dean!" Sam cried, getting angry now in the face of Dean's obtuse need to ground everything in what he could see with his own eyes. "About the things we remember from our childhood, before the fire." Dean became very still. "I was three, but I just remember her taking me outside, telling me what I thought were fairy tales. She was starting to teach me about her powers, Dean. She had left the coven to have a normal life with Dad, but she still had magic. It never left her. That's what the letter says."

Dean shook his head as though to clear it.

"So what, she sold her soul for her powers or something?" he shot back.

"What? No!" Sam looked baffled, "That would be crazy." He tapped the letter on the desk, "No, she had powers from birth. And she drew them from the stars and moon and—"

"Sam, do you even _hear_ yourself?!" Dean shouted.

"Yeah, and I wish you'd listen to me Dean—!"

"I'm not going to listen to this story with fairy dust sprinkled on it!"

"You need to listen, Dean, because— because I have powers too!"

The room fell silent. Dean looked at his brother and Castiel could practically feel the cogs turning in his head.

"I have powers too, Dean," Sam said again, softly this time, trying to keep his hands palm outward to show Dean how open he was being. Whether it had the desired effect or not, Dean stayed silent, listening to his brother explain. "I think mom knew from the beginning, but she uh...she wanted to have a normal life. When I was born, she knew my powers would manifest themselves, so she started to prepare me. She made your amulet to protect you, in case I had an accident as a baby. Remember, she wanted me to give it to you for Christmas?"

"So what...I have magic powers too?" Dean's tone was mocking.

"No. I don't think so anyway." Sam shook his head. He sat down on the table, leaning back with his feet splayed out. "Not everyone does. Maybe you could try, if you take off the amulet—"

"No!" Both Castiel and Dean said at the same time, making Sam startle.

"No, the amulet stays on," Dean said quietly, giving a furious glance in Castiel's direction. Castiel wanted to shrink back against the wall; he straightened his spine instead.

"What's the deal?" Sam looked between them.

"Long story." Dean's voice brooked no argument, "So tell me about these magical powers of yours, Sammy. Do you bend spoons with your mind?"

"Don't be stupid, Dean." Sam sighed, "It's not like I wave my hands and things happen. There are spells, sigils, hex bags. There are entire books about this stuff; I've been reading them since I got Mom's letter and—"

"Speaking of that," Dean's voice grew colder still, "Why didn't you tell me all of this when you got the note from Mom?"

"Because, I knew how you would react!" Sam jumped up again. "Why do you have to doubt everything! This is a good thing! With my magic I can make us _safe_!"

Dean looked at him silently for a while. Then he strode over and grabbed his jacket off hook on the wall, still silent.

"Where are you going?" Sam said, eyes wide and imploring.

"Outside. I'm going for a walk. Don't follow me."

He slammed out.

Sam wiped a hand across his face, slumping against the edge of the table. Castiel wanted to help him, he knew how it felt to be different, but he had a feeling that Dean shouldn't be left alone.

Sam called him back before he could leave. "If you knew a spell or something to heal Bones, you'd tell me, Cas... Wouldn't you?"

"I'm not a witch, Sam," he paused. "But I have heard that witches exist from my brother. I'll ask him for you, if you wish me to."

After looking stricken for a second, Sam shook his head. He looked away, hiding his eyes. He had other secrets that he was still hiding, but Castiel wasn't the person to retrieve them from him. It would have to be his brother.

At least it explained something about the way Sam's aura seemed to feel thunderous on his senses. There was power there, latent in Sam's very being. Sam truly was different from anyone Castiel had ever met, even Dean.

Sam picked up his mother's letter off his desk and started re-reading it. Castiel wondered if it would hold any answers or only more questions. How many times had he re-read Gabriel's old mail hoping to understand why his brother left? The memory spurred him on to follow Dean, leaving Sam to his yellowing old page.

Outside, Dean stood with his face tilted up to the sky. He hadn't left; and he didn't protest when Castiel approached him from behind, stopping a few yards away.

"Do you believe it?"

"I believe Sam," Castiel said. Dean turned to him, clearly wanting more. An explanation, a reason. It wasn't difficult to make that call; he had spent too much time struggling with his own empathy to doubt someone when they made a confession like that. He felt a certain kinship to Dean's younger brother. There had been a time Gabriel hadn't believed him either. "You believed me about my empathy...is that any different?"

"I don't know." Dean shook his head and put both his hands against his face, hiding his expression. The defeat in his posture spoke volumes.

"What if there's something wrong with my brother?"

Castiel said nothing. The thought set his teeth on edge. Dean looked up at him, the demand in his expression loud and clear. "Well...What do you think about all this?"

"I'm not here to judge Sam."

"That's such bullshit, Cas! Everybody judges everybody."

Holding his eyes, Castiel said, "Dean, I have powers too." He tilted his head asking Dean to understand.

"Yeah, but you...you're like—" Dean waved a hand at him, up and down like it was supposed to mean something. "Sam's my _brother_."

"That's different?" Castiel wondered, feeling something in his chest tighten.

"Yeah, it's different!" Dean said forcefully. "Something goes wrong with Sam, _I'm_ responsible. Always looked after that kid, always will."

"I don't think Sam sees it that way."

"Yeah well, I see clearly enough for both of us," Dean said. "You know how wrong this is, right? I don't want Sam to get hurt because of some freaky powers of his." He shook his head, making up his mind, "I'm going to put a stop to it. Right now."

He strode to go inside. Castiel put a hand on his arm, making him pause mid-step.

"What?" Dean turned, bemused when Castiel didn't say anything, only pulled up closer, right into his body.

"I don't know," he whispered softly into the small space between them. He felt as though Dean was slipping away from him with every step he made towards Sam. He felt scared. If Sam's magical powers were really so abhorrent, how could Dean accept what Castiel himself was? Or did it even matter? All these doubts were at the forefront of his mind as he pulled Dean closer by the arm, now squeezed between their bodies and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dean turned into him easily, capturing his mouth and deepening their kiss for a long blissful moment.

Castiel had his eyes closed for a moment when Dean pulled away, releasing Castiel's bottom lip with a wet sound.

"I can't do this right now, Cas," Dean sighed. Castiel saw his sorrowful expression. "Have to talk to Sam." Dean patted him on the arm like some kind of consolation.

"What can I do? To help?" He tried to look into Dean's green eyes but they were shadowed with thoughts Castiel could not divine. Dean's lips grew crooked.

"Honestly? Nothing."

 

* * *

 

The shouting inside the Roadhouse grew louder, the two brothers going after each other with words. Castiel, standing outside didn't know if he should go in and try to interfere or let them sort it out. They were arguing about Mary Winchester's letters, and the communication with members of the coven that Sam had, apparently, initiated on his own. That hadn't gone over well with Dean at all ("You talked to those strangers before your family, Sam?") and Sam had come back with more evidence of why he needed to investigate on his own first.

"You wouldn't even go with me to Mom's grave!" Sam's voice.

"Why would I? She's not there, you get that right?"

"That's not the point!"

"That's exactly the point. I am not going to have this conversation!"

He was uncomfortable hearing them fight. They were brothers. Even he and Gabriel, with a decade of distance between them had recently come to a tentative sort of peace.

He wanted to support Sam because he knew what it was like to be different, to have something inside you, a power that wanted to climb out. And Dean... he was ready to stand between the rest of the world and him, just to protect him, even if it was against Sam. He wasn't sure that Dean would want that. 

Besides, there was a sense of something unfinished between him and Dean now, something they hadn't said or done in time.

"I don't want you to be Dad, Dean!" Sam's shout carried from the inside, "I want to stay here with Ellen!"

At those words, Dean fell suspiciously silent. Realizing the argument became even more personal, and definitely did not include him, Castiel went home.

The front door to his house was unlocked, but he didn't wonder at it. Gabriel had called him that morning, perhaps he wasn't done with his plan to aggressively make Castiel believe he had changed for the better.

"Gabriel?" he called, stepping into the unlit living room. The house was silent as he moved through it.

He had a faint prickling of unease, a sense of danger. Then he felt someone behind him, not with his empathy, his empathy was a mess of nervous jitters that told him nothing. He heard a sound and was about to turn.

Pain exploded in the back of his head. Everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Castiel awoke slowly, the ache in his hands registering first before he tried to move and found he couldn't. With movement, came a real spike of pain in his head. He winced, groaning slightly as he lifted his head from where it had been lying on his chest. He was sitting in a wooden kitchen chair, his hands twisted back behind him. The back of his head hurt something awful. He had a gag in his mouth, some sort of cloth material that's dreadfully dry, and the taste — along with the concussion he undoubtedly had — almost made him throw up. Breathing in carefully through the nose, Castiel opened his eyes.

His first sight was of fingers playing with a small sharp blade, twirling it expertly over and over. The motion was hypnotizing. Then Zachariah blocked his view of those hands with his big belly. He was still dressed smartly in a shirt and black slacks, all business, but his face when Castiel groggily looked up was frazzled.

"So. You're awake," Zachariah said. Castiel wanted to ask him why was he sweating. Was it just being here, in the room with Castiel? They were still in Castiel's house, in the back of the kitchen facing the backyard. Outside through the open veranda door he could see it was dark. He wondered how much time had passed since he came home. At least long enough for the sun to set. Anger flooded his veins as he tried to shift his hands again, and ran into resistance. He couldn't move an inch. His feet were bound to the legs of the chair by the ankles.

"If you try to scream," Zachariah said, "Al here will put that knife into your throat before you make a sound."

Castiel tilted his face, trying to see around Zachariah's ample form. The man in the shadows, the one playing with the sharp knife, gave him a slight smile. It was difficult to see his features, but he looked thin and sallow. Castiel tried to probe outward with his emphatic fingers. Zachariah was a tight ball of anxiety, a mess of real fear and adrenaline. The man behind him was more difficult to read. Unlike Dean, who was like a cool lake, unknowable because of the protective amulet but offering the promise of unexplored depths, Al was like looking into the night without stars. The strongest emotion Castiel could read from him was amusement. Whatever pretenses Zachariah had used to get him here, he didn't fear Castiel and he certainly didn't have much respect for Zachariah either. He was a passive observer, almost bored with the proceedings. His main interest was his knife, still twirling deftly in his long thin fingers.

Zachariah motioned for Al to undo the gag, and the man pushed away from the wall. Castiel wanted to shrink away from his hands when they touched his face, but he could only tilt his head so far. Al ripped his gag out of his mouth with one hand, while Castiel eyed the knife he held near his eye with the other. Castiel didn't make a sound, spitting a little to get the taste of the gag out of his mouth. Al smiled at him a little, sniffed with something like regret and moved away. When his fingers had touched Castiel's cheek he had felt nothing but that same boredom and a thin sliver of amusement.

"Good, good," Zachariah said. "Stay quiet."

"Why did you do this?" His voice was hoarse.

Zachariah's face twisted. "I had to," he pressed out between thin white lips, "I had to...see you again."

Castiel felt disgust curl his lips, but tried to control any outward expressions of emotion. He knew he could make Zachariah go away, he'd done it before and his control had only improved since then. But he dreaded Al and what that blade of his could do. It was best to wait it out. With a sudden spike of fear he wondered about Gabriel, and whether he had come home while Castiel had been unconscious.

"Are we alone?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Zachariah was saying. He didn't seem to notice where Castiel's question was coming from, submerged in his own thoughts, rubbing his fingers together, taking deep breaths. It was as though he was readying himself for something. "I realized," he said, "That I couldn't go on like this. I can't be afraid of this. It all started with you and I know what I need to do now."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Castiel affected a bored tone. Al gave him a little grin from the corner, like they were co-conspirators, watching Zachariah make a fool of himself. Castiel tried not to shiver.

"My problem. My curse." Zachariah rounded on him. " _You_ made me this way. You made me afraid."

With him in proximity, Castiel began to feel more of a threat from Zachariah. Whatever Al would or would not do, he was getting a better sense of Zachariah's intentions and they made his stomach curdle. He felt Zachariah's fear, left there for years after their last real encounter, and fed every time Castiel came to his speeches. The empathic powers Castiel had used on him left deep marks on his aura, like scars. Underneath it was the same perverted lust he recognized from his childhood, from the encounters in the church when Zachariah would moan about being made to do it, made to feel that way. In Zachariah's words it was always Castiel's fault that he looked at him a certain way, had a certain color of eyes, an indomitable curl to his lips. Whatever it was, Zachariah had wanted it then. He felt he should have it now.

"After you, nothing was the same. I couldn't— couldn't—" he paused, coughing on the words caught in his throat. "Even touching myself wasn't the same. And every time I'd see you I would know it was _you_. It was because I didn't get to have you."

"You're insane," Castiel told him, pulling harder at the restraints. They gave a little, but it was only a temporary relief, he still couldn't move more than an inch. "Let me go."

"I can't," Zachariah said shortly. "I'll just have to try it again."

As he came closer, Castiel narrowed his eyes. "If you touch me," he said in a low tone, "I will make you regret it." He tried to influence him, balling up his anxiety about Gabriel and the danger of Al, flicking it at him. Zachariah only paused for a second. His labored breathing was audible in the dim quiet of the room, even if Castiel hadn't had the additional hint of his powers to know how scared he was. He was terrified, but he wasn't stopping. He had finally gone beyond fear. "Release me. I won't ask again," Castiel growled.

There was a noise by the front door. Castiel startled, eyes growing wide. Was it Gabriel coming to see him? Zachariah froze, his emotions turning to terror of another kind, of being discovered. "I thought we had more time," he whispered. Then turned furiously towards Al, "Go deal with it." Al pushed away from the wall again, sliding out of the shadows.

"No!" Castiel gasped out, even as he heard an uncertain boyish voice call out, "Cas?" 

It was Sam. 

What was he doing here? Castiel wondered frantically. He had left Sam with Dean. How would Sam even know where Castiel lived? His thoughts froze in horror. Dean would be with his brother.

"Sam!" he shouted, hoping to be heard all through the house, "Run!"

The thought of Dean and his young brother being in the same room as Al was terrifying. He knew the real danger was the man with the knife. Castiel yanked at his hands, barely noticing the way the rope cut into the skin of his wrists. He couldn't get out, he was completely helpless. Zachariah was frozen by the kitchen isle, mopping his forehead, muttering, "Complications..."

"Run! SAM!" Castiel screamed again, hoping his shout would reach Sam before Al did. Zachariah seemed to recover some composure, grabbing at the gag again. He strode towards Castiel, eyes wild.

Seeing him coming, knowing that if he was gagged he couldn't shout for help or warn Sam (and Dean!) if they were still in the house, Castiel did the only thing he could. He breathed out and in, quick succession like Anna had shown him, grasping all his power around himself. Finding his focus. She had been teaching him to channel his power outside himself, so it wouldn't be buzzing so restlessly under his skin all the time, he used the lesson to let the power flow out of him in a single point of precision. It felt like a waterfall descending on his head. If before he had played with his powers a little, it was only to the extent that he trusted himself, which wasn't a whole lot. He had only once used the power in an uncontrolled fashion, with Zachariah in a juxtaposed scenario when he was ten. Now he wasn't wielding the power blindly like a child, he had a purpose. He wanted to stop Zachariah.

In front of him, the pale white man swayed. The hand with the gag dropped the cloth, went up to clutch at his own throat. Zachariah went down to his knees, but Castiel didn't slow his onslaught. He wanted Zachariah incapacitated, he wanted him out of the picture forever. He didn't care if Zachariah choked in his own vomit on the floor. He pictured Al tearing with a knife into Dean and that gave him the necessary emotions to power through to the end. Zachariah fell face forward and stayed down. One of his hands was still twitching on the floor and his eyes were open. Castiel presumed he was still alive; he didn't care. He felt like he'd drained himself of every emotion, poured them all out. He felt numb to the tips of his fingers and toes. He was panting, bent forward in the chair as far as his bindings would let him, but the overriding thought of Sam and Dean still drove him on.

"Sam! Dean!" he called, as soon as he could draw enough breath, "Get out of here!"

"A little late for that," the terrifying voice said from the back. "Now come on, kids, single file, hands behind your heads." Still the same cold amusement played on his senses. He was almost afraid to turn around.

"Cas! Are you okay?" It was Dean. Castiel twisted his head around the chair to see if he was unharmed. Dean had made a move towards him, almost unconsciously lowering his hands from the back of his head. He gave a sharp cry when Al kicked him under the knees, making him drop down.

"If you don't keep quiet, Sam will be very sorry," Al had a hand around Sam's throat, he had a knife to Dean's brother's throat. "Won't you, Sammy?"

"Go to hell," the teenager spit out, glaring at his captor. If he was scared, Castiel was too out of it to read him very well. He had to be terrified.

Al looked with interest towards the still form of Zachariah on the floor. One thin eyebrow lifted. "How did you manage that, hmm?" He glanced at Castiel with interest that hadn't been there before. "Is he dead?"

"No," Castiel said uncertainly, feeling the weakness in his voice. He had used so much power on Zachariah it was difficult to breathe. He needed to find a calm place and remember himself, needed to be in his garden again and find that center of peace. The dark garden outside stayed quiet except for the gentle tap-tap of the tree branches against the windows. His house was too far away from the neighbours for anyone to hear them scream. He had preferred it this way, liked his solitude. He was regretting it now. 

"That's a shame," Al shrugged. "I can tell he won't be paying me the agreed upon amount. I shall have to make my own arrangements."

"What arrangements, you douche-bag?" Dean said from his place on the floor on his knees.

Al smirked at Dean. "Grab him," he motioned towards the semi-conscious Zachariah. He turned towards Castiel, asking casually, still holding the sharp blade to Sam's throat, "Where do you have your shovel?"

 

* * *

 

"Why should we help you?" Dean was protesting even as he got the shovel out of the shed by the stairway. "You'll kill us anyway."

"I might keep one of you alive. Like a pet," Al answered. "Would you like to be my pet, Dean?"

Dean turned his eyes away, revolted. He was practically vibrating with energy, but he held himself back. As long as Al had his hands on Sam, Castiel knew Dean would be leashed. He, himself was still tied to the chair, but his fingers had been tugging at the ropes around his hands, and he was making slow progress. The blood from the broken fingernails slowed the work, but he almost couldn't feel the pain anymore. He kept trying to undo his bonds, knowing that if he wasn't in time, Sam and Dean's life could be forfeit.

Holding Sam against the wall by the throat, making him tilt his head up against the sharp blade, Al told Dean to drag unmoving Zachariah outside into the yard. Told him get the shovel and directed him to dig a grave.

"He's not dead," Dean said. "His hand is twitching!"

Al just shrugged and pressed the blade closer to Sam's skin. Dean shouted a warning when he saw a thin tendril of blood trail down from the cut in Sam's throat.

"Bury him."

Castiel worked frantically on his bindings. His empathic powers were on the fritz. It was as though after using them with such force on Zachariah, he could barely sense the people congregated in the room. He was getting nothing from Zachariah and Al. Dean still had the amulet, and Sam's emotions were a distant echo of concern and fear.

"Don't hurt him," Dean said. "I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt Sam."

Al smiled. It was a shark's smile. His eyes trailed after Dean who had bent down to grab Zachariah by the lapels of his shirt. There was an interest in his face that hadn't been there before. Castiel liked it even less than the cold boredom from before.

He dragged Sam outside into the garden, after Dean disappeared there with Zachariah's comatose body. Turning in the doorway, Al told Castiel, "Be quiet." He stepped out and was swallowed by the darkness.

The time after that was the longest of Castiel's life. He didn't know if he spent minutes or hours tied to that chair, with not a sound coming from his garden. He supposed the lack of screams had to be reassuring, but for all he knew Al's fast blade had silenced his friends. The darkness in the garden wasn't absolute, it was a full moon, but from the dimly lit up kitchen, Castiel couldn't see outside no matter how much he strained. He wondered if Dean was digging the grave for Zachariah. He hoped he would get there in time.

Finally, the rope on his hands gave under his fingers. Almost nerveless, he pulled at it, yanking it first off one wrist then the next. Castiel had to slump forward for a second, rotating his shoulders around the deep ache there. The pinpricks in his arms started almost immediately with the return of the circulation. It was a good, necessary kind of pain but it still sucked.

There was a shout outside, and Castiel froze. He tried to identify the source. His heart was crying out that it might have been Dean. He didn't know what Al would do to him. If he killed Dean, Castiel swore, he wouldn't rest until Al paid for it. He bent to grapple with the thicker rope around his ankles, cursing at the knots. It seemed to take forever to unbind himself. He could barely stand up on his numb legs, but knowing that Dean was in danger was enough to get him to his feet.

Grabbing a long kitchen knife from the set by the sink, Castiel staggered outside, blind in the nighttime air.

"Cas!" warm hands caught him before he could have lifted the knife to defend himself. "Cas, it's me," Dean was saying. His hands were wrapped around Castiel's arms. "You're okay."

"Dean?" he gasped. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could see Dean's face right next to his. He looked relieved to see Castiel.

"You're okay?" Castiel said in wonder. 

"I'm fine," Dean said. "Let go of the knife, Cas," his hand was on Castiel's palm, gently tugging at his fingers around the blade. Castiel looked down. He wanted to let the knife go, but he couldn't make his fingers move. "Let go, Cas. We're safe."

Finally he tugged the knife out of Castiel's nerveless fingers and threw it somewhere to the side. Castiel staggered against him. "How?"

Dean shook his head, disbelief on his face. "My brother's a witch." He turned, tugging Castiel against his side so he could look deeper in to the garden.

Sam was sitting on the grass, his hands behind him, panting deeply. There was another sound, coming from in front of him, like a whine. Castiel let Dean pull him closer, past the still unconscious Zachariah. What came into view made Castiel gasp when he identified it.

It was a mess of twine, he thought at first. Just various sticks and knots made out of bark, in a shape of a body. He looked closer, saw lethal grey eyes peaking out from the twine. The body cocooned within the limbs of it was undoubtedly Al's. He was alive, but he was completely entombed in the supple thick vines. He couldn't even speak, the whine coming out of his throat was a low sound.

"Sam made the Scarecrow do that!" Dean said with a shrug. "I thought I was losing my mind when those branches just sprouted out of the ground, but here we are. My brother, the witch."

"Sam, you okay there?" he called.

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam panted back. "That was so cool!" he added, and went back to recovering his breath, staring up at the night-sky. In the light of the full moon, he was grinning.

"So there you have it," Dean turned concerned eyes towards Castiel. "Are you okay, Cas?"

Castiel could only stare at Dean. He had tried to believe he could get there in time, rescue Dean from danger, but inside he had feared the worst. His hands came up to touch Dean's shoulders, slid up to his neck, checking for any damage from a blade. Dean frowned and gently grasped his hands instead, stopping him.

"Is this all of it?" he asked, looking at Castiel's purple wrists and bleeding fingers. "They didn't hurt you anywhere else?"

"I'm okay," Cas said, breathlessly. "I was worried about you."

Dean cocked his head to the side, looking him in the face as though testing the truth of that 'okay'. Castiel had to lean forward and kiss him. He pulled back awkwardly after only a moment. That had been impulsive. He hadn't been able to help himself. His lips tingled where they touched Dean's.

"So, guys," Gabriel voice startled them. He was framed in the light of the door to the kitchen, it lit up his light hair like a halo. "Should I tell the police it was false alarm?"


	8. Chapter 8

An ambulance was called for Zachariah. Nobody knew quite what was wrong with him. He seemed to be breathing and his pupils were responding to light, but he wasn't answering, seemingly locked in his own private world. Castiel looked away from him, trying not to wonder if it was permanent. One of the ER medics had wrapped up Castiel's wrists and cleaned up his fingers. Her name was Hannah, and she gave him some painkillers to go with the bandage job.

Dean was unharmed, other than a couple of bruises. Sam had a plaster on the cut on his throat. (He was telling Dean in hushed but excited tones about how the blood amplified the magic, how him bleeding next to the scarecrow had been the key to the spell he had tried for the first time.) Gabriel, who had called the police when he saw an unfamiliar car in front of the house (Ellen's, Dean had borrowed it) and a door ajar, was hovering next to Castiel. He had been the one to handle it with the police, pointing out the injuries on their bodies. "No idea how he came to be like that, officers," was his explanation for Al. They had to cut him out of the bark. He came out wheezing and coughing, the tree vines had cut off some of his air; Sam's smile was a little guilty about that, but not overly so. Al was already known to the police. With these latest charges, he was going away for a while.

So, probably, was Zachariah, if he ever fully woke up. Al didn't have any qualms about telling the officers about their deal; the transaction itself immaterial to him, he wasn't in it for the money. The policemen had looked bewildered that a respectable pastor would tangle up with a man like Al, but there was no way to avoid the truth. Gabriel walked the officers out after they collected all the evidence that was required to close up their file. 

"How did you know to look for me?" Castiel asked Sam when the four of them finally had a moment to themselves.

"I, uh," Sam scratched his head. "Dean told me what you can do." Dean wouldn't let Castiel catch his eyes. "We thought since you could sense things, you could check out if my friend was telling the truth." He snorted. "Well, _I_ believe Jess, but Dean wants to make _double sure_."

"Yeah, and of course the fact that she tells you she's also a witch has nothing to do with you trusting her," Dean lobbed back. "Sam, you want to believe her. But what do we know about her, really?"

"Jess told me about her life," Sam said. "She's been studying with the coven since she was a child, the magic's in her family tree, too. She even heard of our mom leaving." He flipped out his phone. "Here," he showed Castiel. On the phone screen was a picture of a smiling blond girl, about Sam's age maybe a few years older. "That's Jess."

Sam glanced at the photo before he put it away. Dean rolled his eyes. 

"Freaks, the both of you," Dean said, affectionately.

Castiel's arm was touching against Dean's arm. He fought the desire to lean into him, wrap his hands around him. After the evening he had, he wasn't sure he could let Dean out of his sight.

"After I found mom's letter," Sam was explaining as much for Castiel's benefit as for Dean's. "I looked for people who might have known her. That's how I found Jess...or rather she found me about a year ago, from my queries." Sam's smile was bordering on a grin, "She was the one who gave me the book with the spell I used. It was actually supposed to be about gardening, but I found an unorthodox use for it."

"You certainly did," Gabriel said, coming back. His eyes went to the way Castiel was standing too close to Dean, and he might have smirked, but otherwise he contained himself. 

"You're gonna go off and, I don't know, ride broomsticks together?" Dean waved a hand.

"No, Dean," Sam said, slightly aggravated but so used to it that forgiveness was already in his voice. "Jess and I are going to study together. There are a lot of books to go through. Hey, you can help us research—!"

"You know what? Cas and I have stuff to do. Don't we, Cas?" Dean tugged at his arm.

"You know, he's just trying to get out of research," Gabriel supplied helpfully to Sam, as Dean dragged Castiel away. Castiel didn't protest.

 

* * *

 

At daytime, Sam and Jess sometimes came over to Castiel's garden to study: Jess thought it might be a place of power. Dean thought they had played too many RPGs. Secretly, Castiel suspected Dean liked that this way Castiel could keep an eye on them when Dean was busy with work. Castiel thought it was for the best they used his house, since Ellen still didn't know about Sam's special powers. Dean was eager to keep it that way, but even he had come close to admitting that Sam needed more than only his brother to look out for him now. The magic, the coven — it was too big.

To his own surprise, Castiel was glad to share the space with friends. He had been alone in this house for far longer than he liked. For all that he was still a special brand of weird, he no longer felt so alone with Sam and Jess around to show him that different wasn't necessarily bad. He didn't think they would shun him if he made a mistake with his own powers and that was liberating. Sam was working on a way to reverse engineer the spell on the amulet, to protect himself and Jess. When he talked of it to Castiel however, it wasn't with fear or concern for himself, but as a way to help Castiel also. He was the first person Castiel had met who found his powers more fascinating then scary.

Gabriel was still staying at his own place, but instead of a hotel he had rented an apartment, making it seem like he wasn't about to pack up and move on at moment's notice. Castiel let him take it at the pace he was comfortable with. So far, the pace Gabriel seemed comfortable with was making fun of Dean for "putting his paws" on his baby brother. (He was a touch overprotective in the wake of the attack.)

Since the night he had used his powers on Zachariah, Castiel had been sleeping a lot, recovering the energy he had used up. The time free from sleep and day-to-day obligations he tried to spend with Dean.

They were at Castiel's house now, it was midnight. Dean came by to ostensibly check up on him, but they were making out before he managed to shut the front door behind him. Dean had taken off his own shirt, and was unbuttoning Castiel's. Their touches weren't just a promise of sex, they were a way to show trust. Dean trusted him to touch him without hurting him, only with intent to bring pleasure. Castiel couldn't help trusting him in return, believing that the hurried way Dean's fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt wasn't just for show. 

Dean cursed under his breath and yanked at the shirt ripping the last button off in his haste to take it off. Castiel loved this, _loved_ this.

"Gabriel's not here, right?" Dean checked, even as he already trailed kisses down the side of Castiel's cheek.

Gabriel and Dean had taken turns checking in with him, to make sure that Zachariah and Al had acted alone, that he was safe. Meg had phoned him too, but she had finally struck gold. Her latest lover was organizing an audition with a record company. Victor to victory. She was thrilled. Balthazar was presumably sleeping his latest escapade off, since the picture attachments have stopped. Tonight, Dean and Cas were alone.

"I told him you were staying over."

Dean's grin widened by inches. They took their action to Castiel's bedroom, Dean running a careful hand over the bandages still on Castiel's wrists, an unspoken question in his eyes. Castiel leaned over and kissed him in answer. Inside the room, Dean paused with his hands still around Castiel's shoulders, eyes drawn to the bed.

"It'll be different," Castiel promised him. "I'll make it good for you."

"It was pretty good last time until, you know," Dean glanced down to where the amulet lay prominently on his chest. Castiel was growing used to it now. 

"I can't change that about me," Castiel said. Couldn't and wouldn't. Both. Dean caught his eyes,

"I don't want you to change. I like this you." As though to empathize how much he meant those words, he dropped to his knees, sliding his hands to Castiel's hips. He put his mouth on the head of Castiel's cock, licking a stroke. "Gorgeous," he said, and dove in, slurping.

Castiel could only lean against the bedroom door, hands seeking purchase. He was hard almost immediately. The shape of Dean's mouth was a warm O around his length, and his hand was stroking in tune with his lips. Castiel made a sound when Dean pulled off, looking up at him through thick eyelashes.

"You said something about making it good for me?" He had a Cheshire grin on. Castiel wanted to swat him for being so shamelessly into this, it felt almost inappropriate for only their second time together. And what of himself? After the bewildering encounter of last time, shouldn't he feel timid or unsure? He wasn't. He had never been more sure of anything. He wanted to get Dean on that bed behind them, and he wanted to fuck into him slowly and carefully, until he made Dean scream. Then, he thought, he wanted to have Dean's cock inside himself. The conflicting desires warred in him even as he let Dean tug him to the bed, to where lube and condoms were.

"How do you want me?" Dean said, still so insolent and gorgeous with it. His toes curled with pleasure at the thought of making Dean remember tonight. He decided that he would have Dean come inside him first. Tugged Dean towards himself as they climbed the bed and lay on the side, still kissing. He turned around, grinding back against Dean, making him groan and sigh into the back of Cas' neck.

"You smell good."

"I showered," Castiel explained.

Dean laughed for some reason, his short breaths against his back sending shivers down Castiel's spine. "I won't make you wait any more," he said, his slicked fingers finding Castiel's asshole and rubbing at it before sliding in.

"It's bad or whatever, but last time when I didn't know what happened...I thought I made you pass out. I was feeling pretty good about myself."

Castiel groaned, "Keep going," He couldn't wait to get to the main event, the emptiness left behind by Dean's fingers wanting to be filled.

"That was so fucking hot," Dean whispered into his ear while he worked down there, "when you lost it with me." He was fucking two fingers into Cas now, in tempo with his words. Cas tried to relax and spread his legs a bit more to give him better access. "You were so in control up till then; you're always trying to be in control." Cas hadn't felt in control, but maybe he was a better actor than he'd hoped. Even now, with just Dean's fingers, he felt his emotions unraveling. "Is that good, there?" Dean checked with him. 

When he nodded he assent, Dean added a third finger to stretch him a little more. It felt odd, but with the ample lube and with how slow Dean was taking things it didn't hurt. He moved his hand behind to Dean's lap, pulling at his cock impatiently. Dean swore softly and withdrew his fingers. Castiel had thought he could do this with Dean behind him, that it would be a good position to try, but now he wanted to see Dean. Illogically, he had to see him so he could watch the minute expressions on Dean's face when he came. He turned around, saying, "Like this," and letting Dean get in between his thighs. 

Dean accepted the change in positions easily. "Relax," Dean said, "you're in charge here. Anything doesn't feel right, we'll stop." Cas nodded, all of his thoughts focused on the feeling of the head of Dean's cock just against his ass. It felt good. It felt better than fingers because he saw in Dean's face now what it was costing him to maintain this calm. Dean bit his own lip, directing his cock and breaching him.

"Oh yeah," Dean groaned, pulling out a little and then when Cas let out a small whine, sliding back in, deeper this time. Cas watched his face, finding it easier to relax all the muscles and let Dean have this as he watched a little tremor in his jaw where he clenched his teeth together. Dean drove in deeper still. Cas moaned softly at the sensation. It was definitely more pleasure now than pain, a strange sensation of being filled breaking his concentration on Dean's face. He looked down, the angle just good enough to see Dean's cock disappear inside. Dean's groin brushed up tight against his balls. His own cock was laying against his stomach, full.

"So good," Dean said. He panted, glanced up to check, "Is this good?" He slid in to the hilt. He was big, it took a slight adjustment to take all of him in.

"Yes!"

"Awesome," Dean grinned, wrapped his hands under Cas' legs to get them up higher, and began to pump in earnest. The shift in angle was what did it. Cas cried out, with sudden exhilaration realizing what this was all about. It felt good. It felt so good in fact, that he had to close his eyes for a second. As though seeing his reaction gave Dean extra energy, the man above him pushed him into the mattresses pressing in deep. He pulled out half way, and slid back inside, the friction creating a perfect sensation against the nerve endings.

"You like this?"

"Yes, yes," Cas cried, clutching at Dean's arms as the sensation started to get overwhelming. He shifted his hips, fucking up in sharp thrusts, catching Dean off guard.

"Hold on, hold on to me like that, yeah," Dean babbled, "just like that," Cas tried to hold him tight across the shoulders, sliding one leg around his back, pushing him down with a heel of his foot, holding on like Dean wanted. Dean let out a sound like a sob but nothing else mattered, just the feeling of Dean against him.

"Cas," Dean breathed against his mouth even as he thrust inside, finally hitting that spot that rang like a bell through Cas' body. Dean hit it again, pleasure spreading in waves, and Cas clamped both his legs around Dean's back, pulling him closer, wanting this to never stop. He was sweating with effort and Cas loved him for how hard he was working at this, driving every thought out of his mind, coaxing an orgasm out of him with patient diligence. He could have come just from watching Dean do it.

Cas grabbed his own cock, chasing perfection, and came within moments of touching himself, with Dean pushing in, straining as Cas cried out. He felt his muscles tighten around Dean's twitching cock, felt the warmth of his spurts inside and groaned softly.

It took a long moment to come down from that high.

"Fuuuuuck," Dean summarized against his throat. "Cas, you're amazing."

Cas was too fucked out to care. He just tightened his hands around Dean and tried to breathe with the weight of him on top.

"That heel on my spine: _fuck_. I thought I was gonna fuck you through the bed." Cas barely held back a laugh. His exaggeration didn't feel like _too_ far from the truth. His toes were still tingling from those surges of pleasure, his balls felt amazingly empty and his cock was absolutely wrung out in a very satisfying way.

"Stop smiling, I can't kiss you properly when you're smiling." Dean's tone belayed his words as he pushed the words against his lips. That's when Cas realized his own were curled in a ridiculous, oblivious smile. He couldn't control that. Dean only nuzzled Cas cheek, not trying for a kiss. After pulling out and quickly cleaning them up with a paper napkin, Dean slumped over at Cas' side. "That feel alright?"

Cas was sore, but it was a pleasant ache. He nodded. There weren't words to express all of his emotions. He felt like when Dean was inside him they spoke a completely new language, with sighs and gasps and movements of the body, a language particular only to them. Dean knew how Cas felt about him, he had no doubt. If not before, then after the sex they just had, Dean should absolutely be able to tell. 

They lay in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to sleep, but he wanted to have another go with Dean even more. Yawning, he turned to the side, with a hand supporting his head, looking at Dean. He trailed a hand over Dean's ribs, fingers brushing by the amulet that still lay innocuously on Dean's chest.

"Do you ever want me to take it off?" Dean said, strangely tentative. "Then you could be sure of...me, I guess?" It was still hard to tell with Dean, but Castiel had learned not to fall for the shallow, flirty version that Dean often presented to the outside world. If Dean had asked, the matter was bothering him.

"I'm sure," Castiel assured him. "I've never been more certain."

"How do you know, if I take it off, I mean...that there's anything there?"

Dean looked at him and Castiel thought he felt the emotion behind the question that blazed from his eyes, even though the amulet made that impossible. "Why do you say that?" he asked, because he couldn't fathom it. Dean was a passionate man; Castiel had only spent five minutes in his presence before he was certain of this. He'd seemed so comfortable with the sex, the swing from that warmth to this strange sadness spoke to an unresolved knot of an issue that Castiel was determined to unravel.

Dean looked away, hands trailing down Castiel's arms. "What if I take it off and there's nothing?" Cas moved to reassure him, but Dean kept talking, "Sometimes, it's like, my whole life's a giant lie. A joke. I mean, what you see? That's all there is."

"What I see is enough..."

"I've got nothing, Cas. Even my car's dad's. My jacket, my music—" he swallowed.

"Stop it, Dean." Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. "That time I saw inside you."

"Yeah, and you didn't like what you saw, did you?" Dean said, lips twisted bitterly. He moved away on the bed. "You touched me and you wanted to throw up."

"That's not how it was!" He had missteped by assuming Dean would realize what he'd known all this time in his heart. That Dean was so full of love. "I was overwhelmed!"

"By what?" Dean said. "Me?" He looked down and away.

"Yes..." But Castiel knew that he could never find the words to explain. Words weren't his forte. He slid closer to Dean, feeling the other man hesitate before he stood his ground and let Castiel be as close as a touch. He lifted his hand to Dean's face, touching him on the cheek. Castiel had to show him. Had to move his mouth closer, allowing Dean ample opportunity to move away if he didn't want this. When Dean only swayed an inch closer, Castiel sealed his mouth over Dean's. Kissed him, trying beyond himself to show him how much he was cared for, appreciated, adored. A light kiss on his lips became more, his tongue brushing against Dean's. Dean returned the kiss, eyes sliding half-shut.

Castiel watched him out of his own barely open eyes, watched as Dean's eyes slid shut completely. He wondered suddenly, if it was the first time he'd done so with Castiel.

Looking at him, so close he could count the freckles on his face, the dark smudge of his eye-lashes was close enough to touch Castiel's cheek. He wanted to keep his eyes open, to see Dean give himself over to the kiss, but it was difficult and soon his own eyes also slipped shut.

When they broke apart, Dean looked relieved. He looked delighted. The expression suited his face. Castiel thought about how much he would give up, how hard he was prepared to fight to keep seeing that soft, sweet look. 

Dean, like this, was an open book. And not because Castiel could see inside him, or pull his secrets out with some special power. He had given up on that idea, the control wasn't worth a single moment in Dean's arms. Everything he got from Dean now was a gift, given up freely. Behind each turn of page lay a new mystery, a new discovery about them, and about himself. It was a journey Castiel had embarked upon without understanding, but was committing to now, his heart full.

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this story. I had always wanted to try my hand at writing a romance and, I have to admit, it was a joy writing for this challenge. Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!


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